Best Friends
by DaisyPoisonPen
Summary: In which a poorly behaved rich boy gets sent away to a farm by his distant parents, only to become best friends with, and probably fall in love with the farmers' only child. For Camp NaNoWriMo. M for language and probably explicit M slash content. AU/AH/Capless. Characters from all comics/movies.
1. 1-1

Bats are screeching everywhere as Rach, Ollie, and finally break I through the brush and into the cavern. It's just a wide-open space… it probably was supposed to be a tunnel at some point, since we're in an abandoned park. Gotham has a lot of abandoned projects. Sometimes I wonder why people even live here.

"Do you think this place is haunted?" Rach asks in a whisper. She's got her hair piled at the top of her head, her hoodie pulled tight around her. I yank on a piece of her hair and then hide as she jumps and turns, covering her mouth with both hands to muffle her shriek. I like to play pranks on her, she's so easily riled up.

Ollie snickers. "Yeah, Rach. The ghosts of all the kids that would have played here but got eaten by the insane amount of mosquitos in this bitch. I hope you brought bug spray, It's going to be a long night."

I roll my eyes. "You both complain too much. We're just here to get drunk. I hope you brought the liquor."

"Yes, oh, mighty Prince. We have liquor. I don't know why you're asking, it's not like you won't be drunk after two shots, you light weight."

"Fuck you, Ollie. I'm gonna drink you under the table tonight."

"Good luck, Bro," Ollie snorts.

"I still think that being drunk in a haunted cavern is a bad idea." Rachel brushes at the back of her neck with her fingers, shivering at where I just touched her. This time, I let her catch me. "I sweat to God, Bruce. I will kill you and Ollie will help me hide your body."

"You'll never be able to come back, Rach," I whine. Then I snicker. "I'll haunt you if you do."

"Oh my—you know what? Fuck you, Bruce Wayne."

"With pleasure, Beautiful."

She glares at me."

Ollie just shakes his head. Rach told him last year that she liked me, but that ended up being more drama than I'm fond of, because he told me, but I'm honest to God not into her. I mean, she's pretty. She's got model-perfect brown hair that reaches all the way down the middle of her tiny waist. Perky tits, nice eyes, cute smile. She's gorgeous, really. But I've known her far too long to not feel dirty thinking about her tits. She's practically my sister. When my parents switched me out of the charter school in the city and into Gotham Academy School of Business in seventh grade, they made moves to get her into Gotham Academy too, into their School of Law program. Basically, her parents are lawyers and they want her to be one too, but they don't have the juice or the money to get her into a school like GA. But since Rach has been coming to the manor as long as I've been alive (literally, Mom and her mom have been best friends since college and baby Rach was born literally two weeks after I was) my dad figured that getting her a scholarship and getting her internships with the law firm my family's lawyers come from would be the right thing to do. People in school kind of hate her because she's there through connects, not the 'nobility of Gotham' bloodlines that tend to be spoiled, self centered brats that care more about their cliques and social circles than keeping their grades up, or, I don't know, ACTUALLY DOING THEIR INTERNSHIPS.

I'll have you know, I keep my grades up. I dutifully go to ever goddamn internship my dad insists that I do for some division of Wayne Industries or another. Right now, he's got some project going on through WayneTech that's supposed to be for doctors (medicine was always his true passion, I think. But his parents wouldn't let him go to med school because of Wayne Industries) and he just started working on a new division of Wayne Industries called WayneBiotech which is supposed to focus on developing new technology to help the environment, help the farming industries, help whatever.

Personally, I don't care. I have no intention of taking over Wayne Industries. I'd rather take over the Wayne Foundation, to be honest. People actually need the metric fuck ton of money the shallow bitches in this school throw away on fashion or make up or plastic surgery. At least I know that the metric fuckton of money my parents insist on throwing away on this bullshit will be put to use if I keep my school life together. So, I do all the stuff they tell me.

Okay, that's not true. They told me to stop sneaking out and doing dumb shit, but hey, I'm fucking sixteen. I'm not a baby. Besides, they don't really care that I sneak out or drink. They care that I don't try to hide it and keep up a good reputation or whatever. But who cares about reputation? The Waynes practically run this town. Hell, the last time a cop tried to arrest me, all I had to do was say, "Gee, the commish would be pretty upset to find his godson in the back of your squadcar, huh?" and that was that. Well, the officer put in a call to see if I really know Comissioner Gordon. He is indeed my godfather, and I do indeed use that to keep me and my friends out of jail. And no, I don't give any fucks doing it. If I'm supposed to be some rich bastard that gets away with everything, my parents are just going to have to suck it up. They created this monster, really.

So I smoke weed at night, and I get fucking drunk if I want to. My parents always get mad and ask my why I insist on being a problem child, why I smell like those city hoodlums when I come home, and why I don't care about my future. I do, truly. I just don't want the prissy holier-than-thou future my parents think I should have. I already know I'm not better than anybody, and I already know that people who like to pretend they are are hiding secrets behind their money. I'll start doing what my parents want when they stop using their black credit cards to hide the terrible job they've done as parents.

We find shitholes like this and invite the street artists to 'vandalize' it (frankly, this shithole looks better now with all the neon greens, bright blues, stark white black and red pictures and words against the light of the fire that Ollie's setting up.

We have marshmallows and hotdogs and shit that we bought so that we could do this the old fashioned way, and we have collapsable chairs and trashbags to throw away our shit in. It's a legit camp out tonight, and I'm excited.

We drink and Rach bitches about Selina _again_. Selina is honestly just being an asshole because she's finally an upper classmen and she gets to pick on us lower class peons now, and because she's jealous of Rach. I've known Selina all my life too, except she buys into the bullshit parents like mine preach about being a perfect, spoiled child in a bubble made of wealth and 'culture' or whatever, so I stay far the fuck away from her.

She's always pissy because Rach could give a fuck less that her purse is next season 'pucci' or whatever, and still looks fucking awesome ever day. Rach is the girl all of those bottle blonde girls wish they were. I know for a fact that her 'hashtag no filter' instagram posts are genuinely as fresh-out-of-bed as they look. Her bedhead looks like sex hair, her make-up free face doesn't feature dark circles or puffy eyes. She doesn't have to use six pounds of makeup underneath her face just to give herself a healthy glow. Selina hates that Rach is perfect as she is.

The funny thing is, Selina could be perfect too if she lost the bitchy attitude and stopped getting lip jobs. I wish women knew that most men could give a fuck less.

I toast to Selina's stupid attitude ruining our night out… again.

Rach purses her lips, but I can tell that Selina really hurt her today. I resolve to fix this in school tomorrow. I already know how I'll do it, too. I toss back my shot and envision myself in the A Caf, 'accidentally' spilling my ranch dressing all over the two leaves and some cucumbers that Sel considers salad (she's on a diet again, I heard), forcing her to either go hungry or get another salad. Then, as she's bitching at me, I'll secretly dump my drink in her overly expensive purse. And because Sel is an epic bitch, she won't even notice until it drips on her equally ridiculous shoes.

And I'll shrug and walk away, and she'll bitch to her parents who will send my parents the bill for all her expensive shit and the therapist that she'll have to go to because I was mean to her. I swear, some parents don't get it.

"What are you thinking about over there?"

"Revenge," I answer simply. "Look, Sel is an epic bitch. She's not going to stop bugging Rach until Rach puts her in her place. And I'm devising a plan to help this happen because I'm tired of hearing Rach complain about her. Sorry, Rach, no offense, but your bitching is seriously the worst."

Rachel slumps her shoulders. "I've tried everything. I've tried being nice, I've tried being rude. I've tried not caring."

"You haven't hit her where it counts," I say. "She cares about one thing, and that is making sure everyone knows she's better than them. An ice cold glass of humility is the only thing that will stop her. I was thinking about spilling shit on her, but that won't be enough."

Ollie nods at this, thoughtfully. His hair is white-blonde, and it looks orange from the fire in front of him. "Hmm. Does everyone know about her failing her internship this quarter?"

"No, but putting that out wouldn't do anything. Half the upperclassmen could give a fuck less about their internships. We'll have to do some recon. I'm gonna see if I can find out embarrassing shit about her or her family." I point in what I think is her direction. "That can be your trump card, Rach. If she doesn't believe that you'd spread it—"

"I wouldn't."

"But I would."

Rach stares into the fire. "Is that really the only way?"

I shrug. "Yep. It's almost summer. She's not going to have time to fix her image or whatever before summer internships. You'd ruin her going into her senior year. Ha! That would teach her not to fuck with you. You're our girl, Rach. I could give a fuck less whose reputation or pretty shoes or face I'd have to ruin for you."

She grins at me. "Thanks, Brucie. I love you too."

"Don't call me that."

* * *

Listen, I got too drunk, passed out, and I didn't hear my phone alarm go off. It happens to the best of us, okay? Right now, I don't care about that. I care about the fact that I'm nauseous and the sun is literally blinding my eyeballs so hard, they might just quit my face. Rach is still passed out, and Ollie's already retching in the back corner of the stupid half-finished tunnel.

I get up and retch into the bushes nearby. Oh, spiced AND white rum mixed with vodka, hotdogs, marshmallows is cool in the moment, but so not awesome on the return. Did you know that? I'm finding out the hard way. My eyes burn and my nose lets my stomach know that what's coming out of my face is not okay, and my stomach responds by retching more.

Fuck. My life.

To add to this, since I didn't hear my alarm and purge while I was still mostly drunk, the hangover is probably going to last until the middle of the week AND Alfred is already awake, which means he's alerted my parents to the fact that I'm not home… the shitstorm waiting for me is severe.

I hurry to pack our shit and wake up Rachel, who probably doesn't remember anything past midnight anyway. With a smirk, I save our snapchat story in case there's any blackmail material. We'll all review our shenanigans later, when we're sober, to see if it's as funny as it was when we were drunk and high.

We trek our way back to Ollie's car, which I'm honestly totally jealous of, since I can't get my license until next year (I might have gotten caught with weed in my car and had my permit revoked).

Ollie is the kind of guy you can tell anything to, and he'll just nod like it's totally valid. Honestly, probably to a fault. He really shouldn't hang out with a fucker like me, but he likes that he doesn't have to say much around us. His parents' version of the perfect Queen Industries heir is the type that is strong and extroverted and knows how to schmooze people that need to be schmoozed. He's a loner that would prefer to spend his whole life ensconced in a window seat somewhere exotic reading anything he could get his hands on. My family didn't like his for a long time because they're sort of the opposite of ours; The Waynes use the foundation as a means to look good only, letting the business gain financially from their ability to pretend to give a shit. The Queens are what I want to be, to be honest. They use the business to give their philanthropic exploits the success they need.

To spite my parents, I once pretended to be my dad and donated an entire branch to the Gotham Central Library in Ollie's name. The Oliver J Queen Library, also known as the East Gotham Library, is state of the art, with brand new computers, thousands of books, and an entire top floor of coffee shops and study nooks for students, as well as charging stations and free wifi throughout the whole building. My parents had to swallow their gall as they made nice with the Queens until the damn library finally opened, because pulling back the donation would have been terrible PR (although not as bad as Ollie and I getting wasted on opening night). They gave me a long lecture about how to use money to better our image (isn't that exactly what I did? Minus the drunk part) and how I need to learn about responsibility in order to be a sucessful Wayne Heir.

I digress. The Queens make Ollie board at GA since he really lives in Star City. It was hard for him to make friends at first, since he's so damn quiet, but honestly, there's value in his silence. He's like a fucking ninja, and he knows more than all our professors combined because he stays reading up on the most random things. I caught him reading IN HIS FREE TIME by the way, about string theory. STRING. THEORY. For FUN. After that I started calling him Good Queen Hunting for like a solid month. He hated it. I had fun with it.

Now I need his ninja skills to get me into my room, which he does. He leavecs the same way we come, wishing me luck.

There is no luck. Alfred is sitting on my bed, staring at me. He inhales sharply and then coughs, his wrinkled face even more lined as his expression changes into one of disgust. "If you value your own sanity and mine, Master Bruce, please, for the love og God and the Queen, shower before breakfast. Your mother is already upset with you."

"You should stop ratting me out, Alfred."

"I would prefer to keep my job, Master Bruce. Although I have no idea why." He starts muttering his sarcastic thoughts out loud, the way he does when he was secretly worried about me and is now pissed. "I've loved the boy since the day he was born and yet somehow getting a raise doesn't seem like enough motivation to sacrifice my sanity over the—did you not hear me correctly, Sir. Get in the shower immediately, Breakfast will be served in less than an hour! I must still drivec you to school. Did you at least complete your daily assignments?"

I nod, mad at myself for upsetting him. "We did our homework before we left, Alfred. I'm sorry. I don't… mean to upset you."

"Then please present yourself in this house at a reasonable hour, Master Bruce. Not merely an hour before you need to go to school."

"It won't happen again," I promise. What I mean is, he won't catch me out again.

He knows that's what I mean, and he narrows his eyes at me. Still he says, "Very well," and leaves, not slamming the door because he's honestly too proper for that.

When I get downstairs, dressed in my uniform that someone kindly cleaned and pressed for me sometime over the weekend, I see that my parents haven't started breakfast like they normally do when I take too long to get ready. Instead, they both glare at me.

I sigh. "Look, I already know what you're gonna say, so you can just save it—"

"I've decided on your internship for the summer. You are going to Smallville, Kansas."

That is definitely not what I thought they were going to say. "Excuse me?!"

"You are irresponsible and we are tired of your ability to throw our reputation into the wind in fistfuls. I will not allow your stubbornness any longer. We're sending you away."

My father shoves papers into my hands. I decide not to react at all until I can see what the hell is so special about a town literally named _Smallville._ I think about this carefully, and then decide how I'm going to respond. My parents have always thought they could manipulate me using our already-shitty relationship. Mom's shrink told her that I probably feel abandoned by her as a mother or something, and now she only pretends to want to get to know me when I 'behave' and threatens to ship me off when I don't.

As if punishing me using our relationship doesn't _prove_ the exact thing they were trying to tell my parents.

I read the internship documents and frown. "You're sending me to a farm? What the fuck for?" Mom looks appalled by my use of the word fuck, but we both know she isn't. I swear, she even has to pretend around her own family. That is a fucked up life. Suddenly, I can't wait to get away. "You know what? Cool. Send me away and hope somebody else can do a better job parenting me than you can. Call it an internship so that you can hope somebody else can teach me how to supposedly be a 'good' rich person better than you can. Why did you even bother having me, anyway?"

I pick up my backpack and stomp to the front door.


	2. 1-2

At night, I decide to leave homework alone in lieu of complaining about my internship to my friends.

Gotham Academy is a school for kids that are either super advanced, or super rich. Mostly, the latter. The school offers programs through partnered businesses of various kinds in order to get kids work permits and internships as soon as seventh grade. There are four schools in Gotham Academy through which kids can receive internships and college credits: Business, Law, science, and Art. Rach is in the GA School of Law. Ollie and I are in School of Business. Barb doesn't go to GA, but she's practically locked in on doing an Associates in GCC and then joining the police academy… since her dad is the Commissioner or whatever, and she's actually happy about following in Daddy's footsteps. Actually, all of us are probably jealous of the relationship she has with her dad.

My Internship is going to be with WayneBiotech, and I'll be observing and participating in basic planting and harvest techniques and technology, and coming up with ideas to make both processes more efficient and/or potential problems in the processes. I'll be spending three plantings, three summers, and three harvests there.

I'm annoyed with it. Anyone who's ever studied basic agriculture will be able to do this without wasting three years of their life. That, and I'll miss two weeks out of every school year to deal with it.

I pull out my phone and type to my friends in our group text, which is called 'the trash can'… don't ask why. Rach named it.

 **Me:** guys, I just got my new internship assignment and it's bullshit.

 **OQ:** Uh oh. More WayneTech?

 **Me:** I wish. It's a 3 year deal in a farm in fucking Kansas. Can you believe that shit? Summer Internships + spring and fall breaks until I graduate and a year after.

 **OQ:** Seriously?

 **RD:** UR ABANDONING ME HERE FOR THE NEXT THREE YEARS? WTF WAYNE?!

 **Me:** Blame dear old mommy and daddy Wayne. They think sending me away is going to teach me a lesson.

 **BG:** It probably is.

 **Me:** Oh, hey there Barbie. Nice to talk to you too, darlin' how are you doing? Hows school? How's life? Is that guy still giving you shit?

 **BG:** What'd you do to piss them off this time?

 **OQ:** Aww, come on, Barbie Doll. We just… had some fun. Someone here missed his alarm though, so he didn't get to sneak back in without getting caught. Right Brucie?

 **Me:** Fuck you, OQ. You aready know this, Barb, you're in the chat.

 **BG:** so you actually went to an unfinished, abandoned park in the city just to get drunk? Gee, idk, what could POSSIBLY go wrong?

 **Me:** Stop being such a Debbie Downer, Barb. You know as well as I do that you always have fun with us when we're drunk. I can't believe you skipped out.

I save the snapchat story into my phone and post it in the group chat. Immediately we start teasing eachother over our dumb shit. I feel infinitely better just talking to them.

 **Me:** you guys are the best. I'm gonna miss you all. Even you, Barbie Doll.

 **BG:** Gonna miss you too, Brucie. 3

 **Me:** Stop calling me that.

 **RD:** I'll miss you too

 **BG:** You first.

 **OQ:** Will you at least be around on some weekends?

 **Me:** You act like my parents actually *want* to see me. I'll come around to say hey to you guys and the OG though

 **OQ:** Honestly he's probably better at this than your folks.

 **Me:** He really is.

 **RD:** I honestly love Alfred.

 **Me:** he loves you too, R.

 **BG:** he makes the BEST cookies. Holy shit, I'm going to stay in your house this summer and fucking replace you.

 **Me:** try, bitch

 **OQ:** Me too. The 3 of us are going to replace you.

 **Me:** fuck you all. Alfred is mine.

 **RD** : nah, just me. Besides BG I've known him the longest, and I'm already his favorite out of all of Brucie's friends.

 **Me:** Fucking L. STOP CALLING ME THAT.

 **OQ:** shit, she's right, Barbie Doll. We can't compete. Issa wrap.

 **BG:** pssh, speak for yourself. _I'm_ the favorite out of all of BW's friends. Just ask him.

 **Me:** you know what? I take it back. I'm not going to miss any of you.

 **OQ:** don't worry, the girls won't miss you either, they'll be too busy fawning all over Alfred so he makes them cookies and shit.

 **Me:** don't I know it.

 **AP:** You are the most uncouth lot I have ever seen. None of you will be having any of my cookies if you keep using such filthy language.

 **OQ:** my bad, OG.

I balk, my eyes shooting up to the top of my screen, and I frown. After 'the trash can' there are three dots, signaling that the title continues. The full title reads, 'the trash can and Alfred' which they normally use to ask him for rides when they can't use their own cars, or when we're all together and Alfred wants to speak to all of us at the same time.

 **Me:** shit, sorry OG.

 **Me:** I mean…

 **BG:** rofl sorry gramps. We thought this was our chat.

 **RD:** That's supposed to make it better? Sorry Gramps, please make us cookies we love you.

 **AP:** Master Bruce, I know you'll have a wonderful summer. I will miss you as well. In fact, I will gladly send photos of the cookies that I bake, if you like.

The chat is silent for a whole minute. Then,

 **OQ:** omfg this is great

 **BG:** owned.

 **RD:** do you need a model for your photos, Gramps?

 **BG:** I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!

 **Me:** I hate you all. Except you, OG. I'll take your cookie photos and raise you photos of homemade pie that I will be eating in the country side like a boss.

 **AP:** It couldn't possibly be better than mine.

I laugh out loud.

 **Me:** I know Alfred. But at the very least, you're going to wonder now.

 **AP:** …perhaps I'll ask you for their recipe, just to be sure. Will you all require me tonight?

 **BG:** nah, Brucie has homework to do and packing to finish before his trip in two weeks.

 **Me:** stop calling me that.

 **AP:** it would seem that your attempts are futile, Master Bruce.

 **Me:** help me out, OG. Please?

 **AP:** No. This chat has been quite revelatory, if I may say so. Your videos of your evening out are quite unamusing. I don't believe any of your parents would find them amusing either.

 **OQ:** Oh God. Alfred, name your price. I'm your eternal slave.

 **BG:** Ha!

 **RD:** Gramps… please don't tell Daddy. I'm literally begging.

 **BG:** DM me, Gramps, we'll decide how to blackmail them!

 **AP:** A fine idea, Miss Gordon.

 **Me:** Good luck you guys. You're on your own.

 **OQ:** you're leaving us in our time of need!

 **Me:** I have homework to do, Oliver. And I'm already paying for this.

 **RD:** HTIS WAS YOUR IDEA!

 **Me:** Spell check saves lives, RD. You better do your homework too.

 **RD:** Fuck you, Wayne.

 **RD:** Ack! Sorry Gramps!

 **AP:** Incredible.

After that _delightful_ chat, Alfred actually knocks on my door and slips inside. "Master Bruce?"

I sigh. "Come in, Alfred."

"Not 'OG'?"

"That's your chat name. Besides, Ollie named you that. I just happen to like it because it's true. There's nobody like you, Gramps. You really are an OG."

"Why thank you, Master Bruce. It is much appreciated."

"I wish I could just be myself like you, you know? My parents…"

"Forgive me, Master Bruce, but what you did last night was dangerous and irresponsible. Believe it or not, they care for your safety, and you cannot blame them for your own actions."

"They only care because it would look terrible if something bad happened to me."

Alfred sighs. "I'm sorry. I honestly don't believe that is true. You're wonderfully smart, with a mind of your own full of ideas and a heart that is kind and strong. You're bloody terrible at showing any of those qualities, if I'm quite frank. But I've known you since you were an infant, and I saw how your mother watched you grow. I promise you that they do love you."

"They're terrible at showing it."

Alfred shoots me a sharp look. "Some apples don't fall off the tree, Master Wayne. I will help you pack your necessary items tomorrow, so that we can make a list of what you still need or want to buy."

"Thanks, Gramps."

Alfred pats my cheek. Then he grins. "I have a feeling this summer will be very enlightening for you, my dear boy. I can't wait to hear all about it."

Suddenly, my throat hurts and my eyes burn. "I'm glad I have you to tell," I whisper.

Alfred doesn't say anything, he just wraps me in his arms and lets me cry. He smells like cologne and fresh laundry, and probably new car or something like that, since he's always driving. I make sure to inhale it lots so I don't forget over the summer.

As I break down, he sits up against the headboard of my bed, letting me lean against him. When I was little, I didn't used to go to my parents when I had bad dreams or pissed my bed or any of that. I always went to Alfred. He'd help me and then he'd make me warm milk and I'd fall asleep on his bed while he read poems to me from a book that he had on his nightstand. When my parents were out schmoozing, he'd sit with me all night and read to me or watch old movies with me. In the morning, I'd always be tucked in on one corner of his bed.

"Why was it never them?" I whisper.

"What ever do you mean, Master Bruce?"

"You were always the one that helped me when I couldn't sleep. And you are always the one that sits with me when I need help with my homework. You make fun of my friends, for christ sakes. Why? Why not mom or dad?" I wipe at my face. "Not that I'm complaining about you, I just… sometimes I just want my mom and dad to be my mom and dad. Why is that too much to ask?"

Alfred heaves a long sigh. "Young Master Thomas was much the same as you, you know? He married so young, and he didn't quite know your mother very well. It was a difficult few years for them at first, because he was still so determined to go his own way I'm not sure… I can't know why he gave up on whatever dream he had.

"I am afraid that their inexperience has made them… overlook things. Young Master Thomas didn't come to me the way that you do, since I was hired on when he was your age. To be honest, I can say is that right now, your father and mother are very satisfied with the life they've built and with their family. They've worked very hard to make it so."

Is that what I have to look forward to? A life that is simply 'satisfying'? "I don't… I wish they could see that I don't want to live like them. How many more times do I need to get in trouble or sneak out or blow off one of their fancy parties for them to see that I just want all this stupid money and lifestyle to be useful to someone other than me? I just want them to give a fuck about anything other than money."

Alfred pulls me tight against his chest. "Your future is up to you, my dear boy. How you want to live is up to you to decide. An occupation is merely that, and you're fortunate enough to have one gifted to you so that you can focus on things you truly love."

"I don't want Wayne Industries. I want the Foundation. Dad knows this. He just… doesn't care."

"Master Bruce, I…"

"No, Alfred, you can't defend him, not on this. I'm not even asking to do something completely different than the family legacy! I just want the part of it that I know I'll do great in, the part that I'm passionate about. Why can't I have at least that?! Instead I'm being shipped off to some farm in the middle of nowhere. It's like they want me to fail!"

"No, Master Bruce. And even if that were true, and even if your parents did not love you, I swear to you on my life that I do, and that I want you to soar."

I lean on Alfred until my eyes stop burning.

* * *

Alfred, long suffering as ever, watches me leave through the front door with a sigh and an exasperated expression. "Please be safe, Master Bruce. I will retrieve you if you need me to."

I think about it and say, "We'll text you. I promise we won't get too wasted or anything, okay? For you, we won't. And we promise to text if we need picking up."

Alfred nods, smiling. "Very well, then. Please enjoy your evening. Where are you going?"

I just wink at him and duck out of the door.

Ollie's waiting for me at the end of the drive just past the gate, and Barb and Rach are already in the back seat, looking spectacular. I make sure to leer appreciatively at both of them, causing each of them to flip me off. Barb's gorgeous in a girl-next-door kind of way, all soft and bright red hair, freckles on her nose and dimples in her cheeks. She has a piercing in her left nostril that is decorated with a tiny blue stud tonight, to match the ladder of rings crawling down her left ear and ending in little tear-drop shaped dangly blue things that set off her red hair and blue eyes. She's wearing a one-shouldered black dress that shows off her shoulders and tits in a way I think Commish would hate to see, and pink lipstick and eyeshadow that make her look more mature.

Rachel is wearing something red and dangerous looking, and honestly too short. I really don't want to have to kill some poor bastard for putting his hands where she doesn't want them to go. Some people would say that's sexist, but I just want to have a good time with my friends. Rach and Barb our my best girls, and we have to make sure they have fun tonight, not get roofied by some dirty old guy that thinks they're actually 21.

"Seriously, Rach? Do you want us to have to choke someone out tonight?"

"Aww, come on. Can't a girl have some fun?"

"Sure, babe. But if anybody tries too hard, you're with him." I point at Ollie, who dutifully waves his hand near his face in a half-assed salute.

"I ship it," Barb decided.

"I don't!" Ollie and Rach said at the same time.

I just laugh.

The club is fun. We use fake IDs to get in (I know the bouncer probably recognizes us and knows we aren't of age, but the fact that he knows who we are makes him keep his trap shut). I take way too many snaps of Barbie attempting to twerk, Rach's drunken toasts to my becoming a farmer, and way too many middle fingers from Ollie. I dance with Rach, and some girl that wanted to dance with me tries to humiliate her. Ollie cuts in after that, but I keep my Barbie close too. It's a good night with nothing major happening, and I'm happy to dance the night away with my friends.

The last day of class was yesterday, and we celebrated because we'll be upperclassmen next year. Ollie says he's going to try out for Lacrosse again, even though he got a concussion at the beginning of the year on the first day of tryouts. Rach and Barb study up like the goodie two shoes they pretend to be, and I just… well, I just try to convince myself that tomorrow will be the start of something good.

I can't quite do it, though.

"You alright, Broski?"

I look at Ollie and try to figure out where the second head is going to grow from. "Are you?" I ask incredulously.

Ollie shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Just tipsy."

"We promised Alfred," I tell him.

"Yeah, I know. I won't get worse than this I promise. Besides, I'm here to ask why you're moping."

I sigh. "Just… trying to look forward to tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's not here yet. Tomorrow's not here for another… twenty minutes. Let loose, man. Come on, let's not leave the girls on the dance floor alone."

That turns out to be wise. The girls are lighting up the dance floor, people watching them grind on each other and giggle. I make sure to glare at every guy that stares too long at Rach's skirt, which rides up the more she grinds. Eventually we cut in, and I try to pull that fucker down as discreetly as I can. "You're a piece of work, Rach," I say in her ear.

"Can I come home with you tonight?"

I pull away. "No. You're drunk, and I've told you that you're like my sister. There isn't any universe in which I'd fuck my sister. Literally none."

"But you… think I'm hot."

"Objectively, yes. You're perfect. You could get any motherfucker you wanted."

"'Cept for you," she says mournfully.

"Yeah. Except for me." Clearly, I'm the Des tonight. I decide to stick to water for a while.

Sometimes I wish I could be with Rachel. It would be easy, like breathing. But as I look at her face, sweaty and pink from alcohol, and eyes glassy, I know that the way I feel about her isn't going to change.

I always have to do things the complicated way, I guess. My mood is staying down like the kicked puppy it is, and I try to round up everyone to go home. They cooperate eventually, and I let Alfred know that I'm driving back and will probably stay with Ollie, who is still packing up his room to go home for the summer.

He answers with a 'thank God' and an "I will have your suitcases with me when I come to get you. I hope you all had a wonderful time."

Rach hugs me for a long time when I drop her off. I have to get out of the car because I'm not sure she's sober enough to climb up on to her balcony, and I don't want her to break something. Once she's up, she says, "Don't forget us out there, Brucie. Take care of yourself."

I smile up at her. "Don't worry, Rach. I'll be on snap and in our chat. You won't even notice I'm gone."

Next I drop off Barbara, who's sound asleep. I carry her inside—thankfully Uncle Commish is out working all night on some massive case that happened in the city—and tuck her in. I write her a note and sign it 'Bruce, not Brucie goddammit!' and then I start back to the academy.

Ollie watches idly as the night zooms by, probably too dizzy to even try to focus. "You ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be, I guess."

"You'll do fine. You're gonna make a bunch of new friends and forget us."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?!"

"Cos it's true."

"Just to prove that that's not true, I'm going to add the first friend I make to our chat so you guys can talk to them."

"You're on."

"Be ready to wait like half the summer."

"Pssh. You're gonna add some poor bastard within a day. They won't know what hit em."

"A thousand dollars says it'll take me a week or more," I counter. I pull out my phone and open up the group chat, recording an audio chat. "Ollie Here thinks I'll make friends and forget everyone in this group. I'm here to tell you that he's drunk so I want this recorded in the annals of trashcan history. I'm going to add the first friend I make to this group, and I've just bet him that it will take me a week or more to add someone to the chat."

"Pssh. My thousand says it takes two days."

"You're drunk Ollie. Are you sure?"

"Bitch it's on like donkey kong."

I can't help but laugh. "Alright you fuckers. It's on. Anybody else wanna make bets?"


	3. 1-3

**Me:** "I have arrived," Bruce announced to the Wichita Airport.

 **Me:** Nobody listened.

 **RD:** You are a dick if you talk about yourself in third person using quotes.

 **Me:** Okay, Miss HTIS WAS YOUR IDEA!

 **RD:** Will I ever live that down? IT WAS A TPYO

 **RD:** typo**

 **OQ:** lmao. Glad you made it, BW

 **Me:** Hey RD, you never told us if Sel bothered you again.

 **RD:** No, your evil plan worked. Threatening to tell everyone that the reason her mom was in the hospital last year was because of syphilis is kind of messed up though.

 **Me** : So is bullying. She brought it upon herself. GtG guys. Put your snaps from last night in here. NOT THE GROUP WITH ALFRED!

I slip my phone in my pocket and follow the mob down the steps, across one of those motorized ramp bridge things that's honestly unnecessary, and into the baggage claim area. I sigh as I find our flight information. The thing isn't even on yet.

Thankfully, there's someone holding a sign with my name on it, his eyes scoping out the crowds around him with sharp observation. I walk over to him, waving so that he sees me coming. To my surprise, he's probably my age. He has curly black-brown hair. He's wearing a plain white tee shirt with jeans and work boots that still have hay and mud stuck in the bottom of them. When he sees me coming toward him, he smiles with all his teeth, and the smile makes me notice his eyes which are bright blue, almost cartoonish in their hue.

"Hey, Clark Kent," he introduces himself cheerily, reaching out and shaking my hand. "My dad was supposed to pick you up but then my neighbors had an issue with one of their cows, and they needed a hand so he went to help. Mom doesn't really drive a lot, and she hates the highway so…"

"Bruce Wayne," I tell him, rubbing my palm.

"I'm glad you're here, Bruce," he says with another one of his super-smiles. The baggage claim thing finally beeps and begins trudging along, spewing out a large, floral print suitcase, a black clunky number, and several other suitcases I make fun of in my head. Mine hasn't shown up yet, and at least a dozen people around me either looked at the time or sighed. Or both.

"These things take forever."

"I know, right? At least this airport isn't big enough to be really known for something like losing people's luggage or something. That happened to my mom once in Metropolis."

"That's happened to me too. Trust me, it's a pain in the ass. But that's more of an airline thing, you know? Like did you hear about that story where the airline sent the wrong dog to Japan? A dog! Like, an actual live pet. I would shoot someone."

Clark's eyes go round. "Seriously? That's insane." He's so expressive. So far, it's one of my favorite things about him. It's also the most exhausting.

"Yeah it was all over the news, too."

"I don't really watch news. I'm more of a reader. Of books, I mean." Suddenly, he's bright red. "I—h-how old are you?"

I can't help the smirk on my face, and my left eyebrow suddenly wants to meet my hairline and be friends. "I'm sixteen. Just turned it in February."

"Oh really? My birthday is the twenty-ninth."

"No bullshit," I say, surprised.

Clark nods, his skin back in the range of normal flesh color. His lips are still bright. His lips are the color every lipstick on earth tries to imitate, I swear to God.

Why am I… Now I'm bright red. _Way to go Wayne._

"Yeah. I always just celebrate it on March first, to be honest. Even when there's actually a twenty ninth."

"Why? I would throw a mega bash every leap day. I still can't believe you're a leap day baby. Let me see your ID."

Clark pulls it out and hands it over to me without even questioning it. Sure enough, the thing reads ' _Kansas Learner's Permit. License Number K02-55-8520. DOB: 02-29-2004._ ' "You're a freshman?" I ask, surprised again.

He flushes pink-red again, although not as much as before. "Yeah. Well, due to my birthday being right in the middle of the school year, you know? And now it's weird because I'll turn fifteen while everyone is still fourteen in my grade."

"RIght. That does suck." I spot my bag and walk toward it, but he immediately pulls it off the conveyer belt and leans it against his knee while he pulls the next two off for an old lady and her husband, who both thank him profusely.

He waves them off, but his face is bright red again. I stare at him like he has four extra heads with four extra eyeballs each as he repeats, "Oh it was nothing—there's nothing to thank me for. Do you need help to your car?" over and over.

When they finally release him from their clutches and hobble away, I watch him closely. He hated every bit of that attention, but it didn't matter to him at all. In fact, he didn't even think that he would hate every second of this when he saw them struggle with their things. He just… did it. In as long as I've been alive, I've never seen anyone be nice just because and consequences be damned. Not at the expense of their own comfort.

"Are you… ready to go?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Good because the drive back is an hour and a half, and I'm literally starving to death right now. I could go for some good old fashioned chicken fried steak, but I don't know anywhere around here that makes it. Maybe if I text mom now, she'll make some for—gee, I didn't even ask if you're a vegetarian or something. You do eat meat, don't you? Are you hungry? We can stop for food on the way, or we can just—"

"Hey, Clark?"

"Yeah?

"I'm not a vegetarian. But I _am_ fucking exhausted."

He turns red again. "Sorry. Was I rambling? I was rambling. Sorry. You must be tired, huh? Maybe we should just head straight for Smallville so you have a chance to sleep a bit in the car. We'll figure out food later. Does that sound okay? Or maybe—"

I just roll my eyes and go for the exit.

"H-hey, wait up!"

* * *

Maybe I'm just an ignorant motherfucker that knows literally nothing about other people that aren't city slicking rich people. That's probably it. I mean, why else would it not occur to me that teenaged farmers like hip hop or R&B too? Or honestly, anything other than country music.

Well, at least Clark does. He's humming along with a song that has way too much bass and not enough melody, way too many ad libs and not enough words. The best part is, that he keeps up and sounds fucking amazing doing it, hitting the high tenor notes with ease and floating through the insane runs of notes like he's the one that wrote them. The next song is a straight up rock song. There are like ten songs before I hear a country song in his playlist. He along sings all of them like I'm not even in the car.

I'm half asleep as the wind from his open window whips through the cabin of his pick-up truck, a fairly new, shiny black Ford F150 with 'all the fixins' as stereotypical country people would say. Clark isn't stereotypical. Well, except for the workboots. That's… but I mean, he works on his family's farm, that just makes sense.

I'm baffled. And urban farm boy over there is singing me to sleep with his hand making shapes in the wind out the driver's side window. Even though he talks way too much, I'm surprisingly relaxed with him. I like this.

By the time he pulls into a gas station and hops out of the truck, I'm lightly asleep, pulled into a deep restful state where I'm noticing the slamming of the car door or the sounds of the gas pump and dinging of the keys in the ignition as if I were dreaming them. I keep my eyes closed as he gets back in the car, finally easing us back onto the highway. I fall into restful blackness to the tune of an 80s power ballad.

When I wake up again, the song is a country song for a change. Clark isn't singing anymore, he's on the phone. "Yeah, Momma. We just passed into Smallville. Oh really? Oh, that's a shame. Okay. I'm… probably going to take Bruce to eat, he's probably starving. Oh, you are? Great! We'll see you there." He turns to me with a bright, shit-eating grin. "Hey, are you awake? Oh, good. Listen, so my mom picks up shifts at the diner to help out during certain times of the year, and she's there now. She can have lunch ready for us in a few, are you interested?"

"Definitely." It's time to meet Mama Kent, I guess.

It's still another twenty minutes before I start seeing anything that resembles a town. First, the huge farmlands give way to a neighborhood of houses that are fairly decent, middle class properties. After that, Clark turns once, I think, and then there are other things: an honest-to-god post office, a flower shop, a coffee shop which looks good. A mechanic and gas station, a seven-eleven, a hardware store. An auto parts shop, other stores for clothing and jewelry.

"Welcome to Smallville," Clark says with an over-cheerful voice and grand, sweeping gesture of his arm that suggest extreme sarcasm. "Probably not what you're used to."

"Not at all. Do you guys have like… phone and internet service out here?"

"Well, to be honest, the internet is probably not that great. Most of us come to the coffee shop we just passed because their wifi is awesome. The diner's is good too. But honestly, out on the farm, it's kind of slow. I use my phone's hotspot to do my school work."

"Oh God, I'm in bum-fuck in Egypt."

Clark laughs. "It's not so bad. If you want, after we get you settled at home, I'll show you what we like do do around here during the summer."

"Sounds great," I say.

We have to parallel park in front of the diner, and when we walk in, Clark immediately goes around the counter and wraps a short, darkhaired woman in a tight, joyful embrace. "Hey, Ma," he says into her hair, and my whole body hurts from the envy that zips through me. It's like someone pulled a line of barbed wire through all my veins and then yanked on both ends.

I wish my mother would have hugged me like that when I was a kid.

Clark doesn't fully let go of her, leaving one arm around her as he turns around. "Ma this is Bruce, he's staying with us for the summer."

I reach for the unoccupied side of her body, meaning to take her hand. She pulls me into a hug too, and I have to smile. "Mrs. Kent," I say, "thanks for having me."

"Oh, of course. Now sit, you boys must be starving." She brings out two heaping plates full of food, and they smell so amazing that I completely forget that I'm in a way-too-old diner out in bumfuck. I dig in to the fried and the veggies, and what Mrs. Kent refers to as fried potates. They're the best fucking french fries I have ever put in my mouth. I snap a picture to post later when I call everyone to tell them about this place. I also snap a picture of Clark's face as he digs in, washing down his food with lemonade that seems freshly made—as in, she sat there and squeezed lemons to death and mixed that shit with sweetener and water. It's not even white sugar like we get in the store, based on the color of the lemonade. It doesn't taste too sweet like brown sugar made with molasses, and it doesn't taste tangy-sweet like honey. I have never tasted anything like this before. It's refreshing.

Well, at least Alfred will be pleased that I'm not out here eating overprocessed goop fries and weird stuff. As if reading my mind, Mrs. Kent says, "Everything we serve in this diner is produced within the county. We try to keep everything as fresh as possible around here, and try to help out our fellow farmers."

I nod. "Yeah, my dad was explaining that a lot of times, the best way for farmers to sell their crops quickly is to sell it to a corporation, even though they don't always get the best prices."

"Actually, larger corporations or distributors tend to pay less per unit, but because they're buying the whole lot it ends up being a good deal for those who can strike one. Most of us just prefer to stay local. Better prices per unit, and also, helping out our friends and family around us. It's killing two birds with one stone, so to speak."

"Makes sense. Must be nice to all have eachother's back like that."

"Yes well, that happens when the town has had the same families in it for generations. For example, Clark here will be the fifth generation to own the Kent Farm."

"Now _that_ I understand. Most of my friends and I have similar lineage with our parents' businesses."

Clark straightens, beaming proudly. "Are you comparing running a farm to running a Fortune 500 Top 50 company that makes more money in ten minutes that we'll make in ten years?"

"So you did your research, Kent?"

"Research is my favorite." Clark's pretty eyes sparkle with amusement.

I guffaw, choking on my food. "I call bullshit. Nobody *likes* research."

"I hope you don't kiss your mother with that mouth."

I have to laugh. I don't kiss my mother. "My apologies, Mrs. Kent."

She waves me off.

"All the researchers and scientists in your father's fancypants company like research."

"Only because they get paid."

"Speaking of which, do you really think your father's new Wayne Biotech project will really help struggling farmers?"

"That's the plan. His whole business model seems like it's based around making sure American farmers get their top picks in where they want to sell. There are other things we'll probably have to fight about—like the laws on selling grains to fuel companies for ethanol production. How does that affect you guys directly, anyway?"

"Getting right to work, huh Bruce? At least finish your lunch. No shop talk at the table."

"Yes Ma'am," says Clark immediately. He's almost done with his plate. I love the way his mouth wraps around the word "ma'am" and the way I can't tell if he always talks to her like that or if he's just being sassy.

The look she gives him tells me it was about 40% sarcasm and 60% the fear of God inflicted by a mother that actually gives a fuck about her kid.

I'm envious again. It burns in my throat and in my stomach and I have to struggle to swallow, suddenly not hungry anymore.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Clark's hand lands on my back. "Flight catching up with you again? Let's hurry up and get you settled at home. I'll show you around the house and you can take a nap while I check on things with Dad. After that, I'll show you about things we can do to relax when we aren't working."

Suddenly, being alone in a room sounds amazing. "Sounds good. Thanks for lunch, Mrs. Kent. May I have a box to take this with me in? It was so amazing, I don't want to waste it."

She nods and retrieves a styrofoam box and puts the remainder of my lunch in there as my cellphone rings. It's the group, Alfred included. One by one, their faces pop up on my screen, slightly blurred from the poor reception. "What's up guys? Alfred."

"Master Bruce, I just saw that you arrived. How did your flight fare?"

"Long, tiring and boring. But I just met the Kents, at least two-thirds of them. So far, everything is cool. Clark picked me up at the airport. Say hi, Clark."

Clark stares at me for a second before waving at the phone. "Hi everyone," he says quietly.

"Clark, from top left to bottom right, Alfred—we call him Gramps or OG, he's… well, he's alot of things, but officially, he's my father's butler."

"How do you do, Master Clark."

Clark smiles. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

"Next is Ollie."

"Hey, man."

"Rach. We've known eachother since forever."

"Hey cutie."

Clark turns bright red. "Uh—hi, Rach…"

"Bruce, as a side job you need to help learn how to him talk to girls. He choked."

"He didn't choke. He just wasn't expecting you to come for him like that. Give him a break."

"He hasn't seen me come for him yet but he can if he wants to."

"Slut," I mutter under my breath.

"My word!" Alfred says, scandalized. Clark chokes on his drink and coughs as he struggles to recover, and everyone else is laughing.

"Stop embarrassing him! And then this carrot top is Barbara. Barb's dad and my dad has been best friends since Mr. Clean had an afro, so we've known eachother for a long time too. Her dad is Gotham's Police Comissioner."

Clark smiles, still beet red from Rach's comment. "Hi Barbara."

"Call me Barb, most do. Call me Barbie and I'll castrate you."

Clark is bright red again. Then he glances at me. "How many times have you castrated Bruce?"

They all laugh out loud, Barb guffawing while Alfred shakes his head.

"Well, I'll call you tonight, Master Bruce. Please remember to take the allergy medication I've sent."

"I will Alfred. That stuff doesn't make me drowsy does it?"

"Not at all."

"Okay. Thanks for calling guys. We're gonna take off, I still have to unpack."

"Later!"

"Toodles."

"Don't forget us!"

"Please take care."

I hang up as we climb into the truck. "What'd you think?"

"Alfred seems like he really cares about you."

"He does. Honestly he's like a real granddad."

Clark smiles. "I miss my grandparents," he says wistfully. He's quiet and thoughtful until we hiet the countryside again, and then he says, "your friends are… crass."

I burst out laughing. "We're constantly getting poor Alfred's blood pressure way too high. I swear, you should have seen us the other day. We forgot we were in the group with Alfred, "

"I don't know how he handles all of you. Wait, why is he in your call group?"

"Normally, we're all together. Alfred always drives me everywhere I go, so we decided to just all be in the call group in case he can't reach me, or we're separate and need to be picked up in more than one location."

"Makes sense."

"Honestly, out of all of the personal staff, Alfred is the coolest. Ollie's parents live in Star City anyway, so he doesn't even see his house staff half the time. Rach's family has a house staff too, but it's a much smaller staff, and so her parents take up most of their time. Barb's dad has house staff—mostly focused on duties inside the house. Barb's mom passed away a long time ago, and she was on the whole housewife bit. Honestly, Uncle Jim is lost without her, and he kinda makes up for it by hiring a cook and part time maids. They don't have anything like a butler or a driver though. So, Alfred has something worked out with all of their parents and takes care of them if they need it."

"He seems like a generous person." Clark's words come out with that slight twang that makes me smile.

"He is. Hey, your accent isn't like… I dont know."

"Like a good ole fashioned country bumpkin?" Clark asks with a sly smile.

"Something like that," I say vaguely, happy with the mischievous look on his face.

* * *

The house is big. I always expect farmhouses to be like what I see in the movies, but this house is three floors high with a huge wrap-around balcony space that we climb up steps in order to get into. There is patio seating and a huge number of plants everywhere, like Home Depot's garden department threw up on their porch. I imagine that Mrs. Kent likes to collect flowers and plant-growing projects.

The front door is bright red, a nice contrast to the pale blue-white of the siding. The living room has a tall ceiling and a homey vibe. The couches are enormous and fluffy looking, begging me to curl up on one of them. There is a pile of blankets and pillows in a corner of the living room. A tv is mounted on one wall, surrounded by shelves filled with scores of dvds. Another wall is entirely filled by the fireplace mantle. The fire place could honestly probably heat this whole house on its own.

Clark pulls me through the living room and into a hall, pointing out the guest bathroom on the first floor, and the entrance to the two-car garage where his father keeps a modest workshop. "If you remember nothing else, remember this: _That workshop is his sacred sanctum intrude at your own risk._ "

I laugh. "Understood."

"This is the kitchen." It's also huge. The cabinets are old, some of their stain wearing off, but they're made of sturdy, top quality wood and stained warm oak-brown. The counter tops are classic gray-white granite and gleam spotlessly in the early afternoon sun. The back door reveals the rest of the balcony and a huge back yard with a shade tree. The porch overlooks most of the farmland that they have, and the view is surprisingly peaceful. It makes me feel small, but not in a bad way. It reminds me of the view my own house has of the ocean.

"This is great," I say.

"It's a good area to relax."

To the side of the porch there is a pool. It's kept well and looks perfect for swimming laps in, but not much else. I decide that I want to swim laps in it in the mornings, if I don't end up being too busy. I have to stay in shape somehow, and I don't know how much actual farming I'll be doing.

Inside, Clark pulls my suitcase up the steps with ease. His back muscles flex as he heaves it up in front of him. "The second floor is our space. My room is on the left, your's is on the right. There are ensuite bathrooms in both, so please make yourself comfortable. This middle space overlooks the living room." Sure enough, when I reach the railing at the top of the steps, there's a direct view to the enormous fireplace. "I have a TV up here and some beanbags—sometimes my friends come and play video games up here. There's also a desk and mini library. I honestly prefer to do my schoolwork in my room, but sometimes… anyway, your room is through here." He pulls my suitcase through the door on the right, and I smile as I take in the space. The walls are all white except the wall behind the bed, which is dark wood paneling. The bed is big and looks fluffy and comfortable, the olive green bedspread made to perfection, complete with hospital corners. The windows are decorated with a window seat full of pillows that match the room, matching tan and green curtains, and an olive drape to match the bed too. There's a solid wood desk and a sitting space near the window and window seats, and the wood matches the paneling and the night stands. The closet is a walkin closet, and the bathroom is modern with a glass shower and separate tub.

"Do you like it?"

"It's restful."

"Good. But—" he rubs his neck. "There's one thing I have to show you before you can crash. It's kind of mandatory, but I don't really want to freak you out."

"What is it?" I ask, mildly confused. I follow him out of the room and down the steps. There's a door on the other side of the kitchen that leads to a basement. The basment is unfinished but clean, the shelves on the walls filled with odds and ends that the family has collected over the years. At the other side of the basment is a door that is in the ground. He pulls it open, heaving it up and making sure it stays open. Then he flicks on a light and motions me in.

"It's the storm cellar. Um… if you hear the sirens, you should grab your ID and come down here. We can close it from the inside, and it stays closed until the storm passes."

"Storm?" And then I swallow. We're in bumfuck _Kansas,_ and there are tornados out here. "Oh… fuck."

"Hey, don't worry. They don't wreck everything all the time like you see on TV. It's just better for you to know, than end up being caught up in one and not know what to do or where to go. Come on, I'll show you the inside." He goes down the steps—there are four—and ducks into the space. It's only tall enough for people to stand in, but that doesn't matter—in a real tornado, my ass would be plastered to the ground anyway. There are two shelves at the very end. One is filled with water bottles, and one holds six flashlights and a huge supply of batteries. On the ground underneath that is a few days supply of granola bars and MRE's and other 'emergency holy fuck the apocalypse' food. I notice that there's another door to the side.

"It's an outside entrance. Um, it's better to have an alternate way to escape if you're under the house, and the house is currently rubble. It hasn't happened to us, thank God, but you know. Besides, there's a way to get in if you're outside the house, and a way to get in if you're not. It's just convenient. A safe place to hide, with solid doors and walls and no direct outside access, like windows or something. That's the important part."

I nod, dazed. "Uh, okay."

"We asked Alfred to send along a week's worth of any medication you take, and that's all in this right here." He points to the safe on the ground. "We can put anything else you want in there too. Just let dad know."

"I will… thanks. Thanks for showing me this place."

"Yeah, sure. Like I said, I know it's scary, but don't freak out. They're kind of a part of life out here, and we just adapt as best we can."

"And get good insurance."

Clark laughs. "That too. Come on, I'll walk you back upstairs."

We walk up the steps and back into the kitchen, and then back up the steps to the second floor. "Hey, what's upstairs?"

"My parents' room and office. They have the best view, but they don't have a balcony!"

"Sucks for them."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be in the barn if you need something. Oh, I forgot to show you the balcony, but… well, the doors are right there." He points to the French doors which lead to a balcony space. "Dinner is always between 6:30 and 7, so you should have plenty of time to relax. If you decide you wanna go somewhere instead, I can take you swimming, or back out to town."

"Sounds great. Thanks." I turn to my room and start to unpack, stuffing my things in drawers or hangers inside the closet. It's a good size, but I know my closet at home is bigger. I finish unpacking rather quickly… and now I'm bored. I decide to walk through the house again, taking in things I didn't catch on the whirlwind tour.

In the kitchen, Clark's last quarter report card is on the fridge, held up by two magnets. All As with three—count 'em, three—AP classes, and bringing his semester GPA to a whopping 4.28, and his cumulative GPA to a sparkling 4.1. This kid is _not_ fucking around. I notice that all his AP classes are English Lit or ELA type classes, including an Ethics in Journalsism I class and a History in Literature I class.

This kid is _double_ not fucking around. I hope I can pick his brain about some lit class things.

In the living room, there are photos of him everywhere—professional ones of him with each of his grandparents, candids and professionals of him in his little league baseball. He was a cute kid, all big blue eyes and round pink cheeks. His team photos are kind of grainy in his super little years, but as they get better and he gets older, I can see how he's filled out. Seventh and Eighth grade were awkward for him, clearly, as he sports braces both years and dorky glasses.

I guess now he wears contacts? But the braces are off, and I didn't see the glasses today. Only clear, beach-blue eyes and straight, white teeth framed by that indescribable color lips.

I force myself to move along, back upstairs and forget the pretty blue eyes in all the pictures. I push myself up the steps and try to stop thinking about his mouth without braces. I'm so curious about this guy. I mean… he's obviously no dummy. He's a freshman and already pulling a 4+ GPA on more writing intensive classes than even Shakespeare could sneeze at. Not to mention, he's fucking gorgeous.

I choke, slipping on the last step and grasping wilding at the banister to hold myself up. When I catch my breath, I sit at the top of the steps.

You know, I've messed around with guys before. I figured that if I'm gay or whatever, then that would be a good way to find out about it. If not, then I would get it out of my system. Okay, that's bullshit, I'm kidding. Who really experiments with guys just to experiment in seventh grade through freshman year? Most people that age can barely figure out how to put any combination of the words 'I like you' or 'lets make out' in one sentence without choking to death.

The truth is, I made out with one guy on a dare because I was super, UBER drunk. And probably high too. The guyswas whatever. I wasn't attracted or unattracted. I was just drunk and not backing down from a dare. So there was one full minute of kissing a dude. With tongue.

After that, I blackmailed everyone at that party (thank God I know all of their secrets, and my parents know all of their parents) into ratting them out for stuff their parents would never forgive them for, and they deleted any evidence of said kiss. I forgot about him, and God knows he forgot about me. Either way, that incident convinced me that I'm about as straight as they come.

How is this person making me doubt that now? I got one look at his eyes and his lips and all his muscles, and his weird little knack for singing R&B like a famous singer and suddenly I'm like 'Fuck being straight'? I actually refuse to give in to that. Fuck that shit. I have figured myself out already. I'm good to go. Straight as an arrow. Straight as a compass pointing north. North is straight. I'm good.

Convincing myself of this, I stand up and take myself firmly into my room, shutting the door. Clearly I need to sleep, it was a long night followed by a long flight. Maybe I'm just too tired to be normal.

I open the door again and creep across the game room space, opening the door to Clark's room. It's empty, but my pulse is still thundering in my ears as I push it almost-shut behind me. It smells really good in here.

His room is decorated in intense, almost cerulean blue and white, his bed displaying a simple blue comforter with white sheets folded neatly and corners tucked, white and tan pillows propped against his headboard in straight rows. His room doesn't have a window seat. Instead, the window is framed by floor to ceiling book cases and covered with gray and tan striped curtains. In front of the book cases and window, a large, gray overstuffed reading chair has a white afghan draped across it and is accented by a blue pillow. The wall behind his bed is white, but the rest of the walls in his room are that intense blue.

I go to the book case, my fingers tracing the spines of all the books as I read their titles. He's nerdy, and I like it. He's got a lot of comic books lining at least three shelves. With his journalism and literarure clases that I saw, I was expecting wall to wall classic literature and boring things to suffer through reading for school. There are a few of those. A Tale of Two Cities looks so worn out I can barely make out the title. Beowulf also looks worn out. The rest of his books are a mix of classic and modern science fiction. There's one bok I'm impressed with all the titles I see, even though I have to roll my eyes at some.

His desk is organized chaos. He has several books on it, probably book reports for the summer, which he'll complete in like two weeks I bet. There are papers piled wildly underneath the books, and his macbook sits open, displaying a screensaver of outerspace photography.

There are photos on a decorative floating shelf on the opposite wall, along with some personal trinkets and trophies. There's a championship trophy from one of his years in little league and a baseball in a glass case. A photo of people I assume are his friends sits framed. It looks like a selfie. There's him, and then there's a girl with dark hair and honey-brown eyes. He's smiling as he leans next to her. Some other guy has his arm hooked casually around his shoulder, and I'm instantly ridiculously offended. Beside the girl, a blonde girl with a pretty smile grins at the camera.

The next photo is one of him with I guess his dad? They're riding horses together. There's one other photo on his night stand, and it's one of his mother, whom I recognize, and his father again. He has an arm wrapped around his mother and is pressing his lips to her cheek in a kiss. He's a total momma's boy.

I grit my teeth as tears sting my eyes. I want what he has. _All of it._ Even this stupid farm with a panic room for fucking tornados. And just as suddenly as I want him and his parents and his life and his friends, I hate it all. Acid burns in my throat and against my fingers, and I want to smash the photo.

I decide to turn back to the bookcase before I do anything stupid. I pick up the worn copy of A Tale of Two Cities, and start to read.


	4. 1-4

When I open my eyes, Clark is sitting at his desk typing away at his computer, and I'm covered up in the blanket that was draped along the back, the decorative pillow neatly nestling my head.

I freeze. _Oh God, I fell asleep in his room. He knows I snooped! Fuck, what do I say?_ I'm in full panic mode when he turns around, stretching as he stands. A little piece of his skin shows as his shirt pulls up, and I can tell he's got a pack on his stomach that most beer companies would be jealous of, probably like 8 or 12 pack, "2 extra cans free!" or something. _Why does he have to look so good? It's confusing._

"Oh hey, you're awake. Wanna go swimming?"

I don't know what to say. "I—uh, do we still have…" I motion vaguely to my watch.

"Yeah, we've got a couple of hours, and the trip is only ten minutes in the truck." He is all smiles as he looks at me. "Feel better?"

I nod, still confused. "Uh—yeah. Definitely. How long was I…"

"I'm not sure. I came in here like an hour ago, though." He grins. "I know the first half of that book can put anybody to sleep. But honestly, if you stick to it, it's worth it. It has the best kind of ending. It's a very thought-provoking story over all."

"Thanks for the heads up," I chuckle. "I was already tired to begin with." I clear my throat. "You're not, uh… I mean, I totally didn't mean to snoop or…"

Clark smiles brightly again, his eyes sparkling. "It's fine. I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to go through my books. Feel free to borrow any of them while you're here."

I don't know how to act now. Is he just… naive? Is he stupid after all? I should be grateful, but I want to smack him for being so nice. I've never met anyone so… _giving._ Or stupid, I haven't quite made up my mind on that one yet.

I don't smack him. I stand up and go toward the door. "Gonna go find my swim trunks."

Clark heads to his closet. "Awesome. I'm gonna go change too, and we'll meet in like… ten minutes? Don't worry if you don't have a beach towel or whatever, we have a few and you can borrow one."

"Thanks. See you downstairs."

Clark nods and slips into his closet.

I go into my own room and shut the door, sagging against it. _Holy fuck. Holy fuck. I can't process this._

 **Me:** Guys 911 this is an emergency.

 **OQ:** Wow only there a couple hours and already phoning in lifelines?

 **Me:** Shut it OQ this is bad. I'm freaking out.

 **RD:** What happened? Did you break something? Should we call Alfred?

 **BG:** What do you mean did he break something? Did you break something? Are they holding you hostage?

 **OQ:** We should videocall. With OG.

 **BG** : No, dummy! If they're holding him hostage, the phone call will alert them! Let me call my dad brb

 **Me:** NO! Jesus, stop! Nobody's holding me hostage, and I didn't break anything. Well, except maybe my sanity.

 **Me:** And my pride.

 **Me:** Definitely those.

 **RD:** fucking seriously?!

 **OQ:** Let's hop on a call lmfao

My phone rings and three faces appear on the screen, all of them crying laughing.

"I hate you all."

"What the hell happened?"

"I'm a terrible snooper," I hiss into the phone. "I was checking out the house, right? And of course, I go into Clark's room to make sure he's not a sociopa—don't judge me, I'm in a strange house by myself, okay?" I snap at the looks they give me.

"Oh I can already tell this is gonna be good." Barbara pulls her long red hair up into a knot at the top of her head.

"He totally caught me snooping in his shit." I try to breathe normally as I fish for my swim shorts and a tee shirt in the closet. "Okay, the reason I'm a terrible snooper is because he has a huge bookcase, wall to wall and floor to ceiling, full of shit to read, and I got caught up in one of his books." I can already tell my face its bright red before I can continue, so I avoid looking at the screen and focus on changing. "I might have fallen asleep reading in his chair."

Silence.

"Say something!"

Rachel turns red from trying to stop her laughter, but she bursts into giggles anyway.

"Wait. What did he do?" Barb asks, holding up her hand.

"This is what's freaking me out, okay? Listen to me. He said 'I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to go through my books' and then he offered to let me borrow anything I wanted! What. The fuck?! And, not only that, but when I woke up I was tucked in on the chair complete with a blanket and a fucking pillow. Who is that nice? I'm so lost, what do I do?"

Ollie looks amused. "Say thank you and tell him it won't happen again. And then pretend it never happened at all."

"Uh—no. This is definitely suspicious. Is he always that nice?" Barbara's eyes are narrow.

"I don't fucking know, I've been here like three hours and I've been asleep for most of it!"

"I don't know, he seemed adorable." Rach chews on a cashew she picks up from somewhere off camera, her yellow v-neck shirt offsetting her eyes and hair and showing off the top of her tits.

I narrow my eyes at her, suddenly not comfortable. "You're not allowed to talk about how adorable he could be until you're wearing clothes."

"You're a fucking sexist," she answers flatly.

"You don't fucking know him," I hiss. "I have to go. You lot are no fucking help. If I end up on some guy's grill tomorrow, it's all your fault."

"Don't worry. You'd probably end up hogtied and slow roasted anyway, turning around over and over with a stick shoved up your ass on one side and down your throat on the other. We'd be able to get there and save you before you cooked to death."

"Fuck you all." I hang up and throw my phone into my backpack along with an extra tee shirt and extra shoes with socks. I shove my feet into flip flops after I pull my board shorts on, deciding to go commando underneath. Nobody's gonna see my junk.

When I leave my room, Clark is waiting, dressed in plain, bright blue board shorts and a white, short sleeved rashguard, his abs clearly outlined by the clingy fabric. He's also wearing flip flops, and I notice that his face is neatly decorated by glasses with a thick, black frame. They make his eyes look even bluer.

He smiles brightly and hands me a towel. "Looks like you're ready. Come on, let's go before people start crowding the place."

I stuff the towel in my backpack and follow Clark into the kitchen, where he hastily stuffs four bottles of water and several snacks into his backpack. He looks up at me for a second. "Um, are chips okay? We don't really have much by way of snacks. Ma says it ruins the appetite." He rolls his eyes. "Like anyone would ever _not_ eat whatever she cooks," he mutters under his breath as he roots around in the cabinet again. His shirt is riding up again.

"They're fine," I say, amused.

"Okay. Well then, let's go." We pile into the truck and Clark puts it into gear, singing along with the music again.

"You have a great voice," I tell him.

"Thanks," he says, blushing shyly. I guess he's shit at taking compliments.

"Do you sing for church or something?"

"Uh, no. There's a church in town and we go, you know, for holidays or whatever, but we're not all actually that religious."

"Thank God," I say ironically.

He laughs, singing along with the music again. This time, he's being goofy as he sings, pretending to dance in his seat and pulling the steering wheel this way and that so that we zig zag in our lane in time to the music.

I shake my head at him. "Someone's going to think you're drunk."

"Ha! Well, it's always five o'clock in Margaritaville."

"Don't let a cop hear you say that."

"The cops here are fine," he says. "Just… stay out of trouble and they don't cause any."

"Hmm. So, like my relationship with snakes. Stay far the fuck away and don't antagonize them, and they stay far the fuck away from me too."

Clark laughs. "Snakes aren't bad. Probably just more annoying than anything else, when they're wrapped up in something you wanted to use."

"He says snakes aren't bad," I say to myself. "Oh God, I'm staying with a psycho that thinks snakes are only 'annoying'."

He laughs again. "You'll get used to a lot of things around here."

"You have a great laugh too."

He looks over at me and smiles, his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. "I'm glad you think so."

* * *

We arrive at a riverbank exactly eight minutes later, and I can hear light twangy notes of country music floating on the sound of gently rushing water punctuated with sharp shrieks and happy laughter.

"So, this is just part of the river that most of us use to irrigate our properties. The irrigation system splits off upriver, and what's left is what we call the Watering Hole."

I make a mental note to ask about their irrigation systems. "And this is safe?"

"Totally. The deepest part is about ten feet, which is cool for jumping and easy diving. The current isn't really all that strong because a lot of the water is carried away by the irrigation. We make sure this part stays clean and unpolluted as a town effort so that we can continue to use it for entertainment. As you can see, it's not like there's much else to do out here during the summer."

I snort. "Yeah, clearly. Alright, well let's hit this party."

Clark grins his super-beam grin and hops out of the truck, grabbing our towels and all of our stuff before I can protest and leading the way to the edge of the river. His super-beam grows into an ultra-HD superbright lighting-aisle-at-Home-Depot smile. "Hey guys! And Chloe."

The girl named Chloe rolls her eyes. "Oh, it's you."

I bristle, but Clark's easy megawatt smile is still on, and he says, "Missed you too. How was your vacation?"

"It was fine. Boring, to be honest. My cousin is kind of a loser. You'd like her."

"Ouch! Why do you hang with us so much if we're not your speed?"

"Because you're cool and there's nobody else to hang out with. Hey, new guy! Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Bruce Wayne," I say with a laugh. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Chloe, and I like how mad you just got about me messing with Clark. Don't worry, it's all good fun. I don't know you on the other hand, so you better be careful."

"He's alright, Chloe," Clark says quietly. "Who else is here?"

"Pete's here. So're Whit and Kenny, though, so watch out for that. Lana's here, too."

Clark's smile vanishes. "Lana's here?"

I smirk. "Who's Lana?"

Chloe grins. "Clark's soon-to-be girlfriend. So he wishes, anyway."

"Oh, really?" My interest is piqued.

"I need you both to stop," Clark says, exasperated. His face it beet red and his eyes are so wide they might eject out of his face and land in Chloe's lap.

I laugh. "Show me this hot girl. She'll want a date with you before the day's out."

"I don't—oh—hey, LanaBruce—this is, Lana, this is Bruce, he's staying with me. You know, in my house." His face turns even darker red and he pushes his glasses up on his nose.

I'm almost embarrassed for him as Lana looks him over once and then turns to me, shooting me a sexy smile. I won't lie, she's hot. She's got long hair that's black now because it's wet, the hair clumping into waves all the way down her back. She's wearing a white string bikini that shows off decent tits and a spectacular ass and accents her flat stomach, trim waist, and model legs. Yeah, I'd fuck her. Poor Clark is still trying to unswallow his tongue at the sight of her.

I leer. "Hey, I take it you're Lana."

"That's me. Who are you, hotness?"

I roll my eyes. "Bruce Wayne. Listen, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

She turns light pink. "Nothing, why?" she asks, looking up at me through wet eyelashes. Her eyes are hazel.

"I'm just thinking that Clark's going to give me the tour of the town tomorrow, and I heard there's a place he really likes to get coffee."

"Oh, yeah, the Talon. We can hang out there, if you want."

I tilt my head. This girl has a mean streak, and she's about to reveal it. "Yeah, well I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. Clark's family does dinner around six, but after that might be okay. I don't want to miss Mrs. Kent's food, so far it seems spectacular."

"Yeah, she is super nice, too."

"Cool. Give Clark your info if you haven't yet, and we'll text you when we're done cleaning up after dinner."

She looks at him again, and thankfully he's back to normal, now, not heart-attack-puce colored. There's a smile on his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Then she puts her hand on my arm. "You don't want my number, though?"

I grit my teeth as Clark's eyes cast downward, his shoulders slumping. "Sorry," I say with my best smile plastered on. It's the smile I use when I'm forced to go to mom and dad's bullshit functions. It's bright and one hundred percent fake, and Lana knows that it is. "I don't give my number to girls I'm not fucking or planning on fucking, and I wouldn't dip my meatstick in your sauce if you were the last female on earth, babe."

Her mouth falls open, but I ignore her. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, Clark, it's hot as fuck. Let's swim or lets get out of here."

Clark nods automatically and turns toward the water, shedding his shoes and glasses on our towels as he goes. His face is completely blank, his eyes utterly empty. I watch Lana's shoulders slump for a moment before I follow. He floats on his back and closes his eyes. "Why do I keep messing up so epically with her?"

"Because she doesn't like you," I say bluntly. "Fuck, this water is cold!"

"It feels good," he answers. There's a long silence, and then a sigh. "I wish she'd just give me a chance. But I guess it doesn't help that I choke all the time."

I can't help myself, I laugh. "Well, you did choke pretty fucking hard today. But you know what? If she doesn't wanna see that you're a stand up guy, then I don't really know what to say. It's her loss."

"You're just saying that. You don't even know me."

"I went in your room without your permission. I _violated_ your _inner._ _Sanctum_. I'm sincerely sorry, and I woke up feeling awkward as fuck about it because you totally caught me in your shit. And what'd you do? Made me comfortable and told me to feel free to come back. Who the fuck does that?"

Clark turns pink again. "I didn't mean for you to feel uncomfortable. You're going to live with us for the next eight weeks, and getting mad at you will make ALL of those weeks awkward."

"I _deserve_ to be uncomfortable! It was _your room!_ What the fuck even do you mean? So you're saying it wasn't worth it to be mad?"

"It wasn't. I have nothing to hide. Fine, maybe you shouldn't have just gone into my room like that. But I mean, what were you going to find? Proof that I'm an ax murderer? To be honest, that stuff is in the basement anyway."

I stare at him. Then I shove him so that his head dips under the water. He comes up laughing and chasing after me. Happy that he's smiling again, I splash at him and swim into the deeper water, treading water while I wait for him. He's grinning when he reaches me. "Thanks for sticking up for me," he says sincerely once we're away from the other swimmers.

I can't help smiling back. "You're not bad at all, Clark," I say sincerely.

He ducks under the water and comes up floating on his back again, drifting with the current, his eyes closed. "Neither are you," he says eventually.

I drift alongside him, and it's peaceful.

* * *

We swim for a while. Clark shows me the other side of the bank which is rocky and high. People use it to jump into the water, lining up for their turn at a jump. We take several turns, and I admit that this is pretty cool. My friends and I would have a blast here, and I miss them.

After that, we drink our water and eat some of our snacks. There's a roll of crackers that we split, talking easily about anything and everything as we chew, and then we each dig in to a tiny bag of chips.

We return to the water and float on our backs, listening to the sounds of the area around us and staring up at the patch of sky visible between the few trees that line the river bank. The sky is the color of Clark's eyes. I wonder if he reflects the sky, or vice versa.

There's a nasally sounding voice that calls out, and the splashing sounds that indicate a less than stellar swimming skill. "Hey! Clark?"

Clark is immediately upright, treading water again. "Pete! How's Mrs. Ross holding up?"

"Much better. She said to tell you hi and tell your mom thanks for the food."

"Aww shucks, it was nothing I'm sure. I'm just glad she's getting better. Hey Pete, this is Bruce, he's staying with us this summer so you'll see him around a lot. Bruce, this is my buddy Pete."

"Heya Pete."

He smiles at me. He has to lean his head way back to breathe, a sign that he's not faring well treading water. I nod to Clark and we move away from the deeper part of the Watering Hole.

"So, we lost Bess."

"Aww, no way." Clark seems genuinely afflicted by the loss of Bess, and I wonder who that is.

"Yeah." Pete sighs heavily. He's thicker, soft where Clark is lean muscle, doughy where Clark's solid. He's a head shorter than him, too, I realize when we can all put our feet down. His cheeks are round, and his bright red hair looks dimmer now that it's wet. He turns to me, and his eyes are a muddy shade of gray-brown. "Bess was our cow."

The lightbulb turns on in my head. "Oh, Clark mentioned his dad was going to help you guys out."

"Yeah, he was really helpful. But in the end, we had the vet come out and put her down. It was just too much damage. We didn't want her to suffer."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say sincerely.

"Mom's sad. Bess was her favorite. How about you guys, what's the deal with our new friend?"

"Dad made us part of this program that Wayne Industries is rolling out to help farmers that struggle with different aspects of what they do. Bruce here is interning. He'll be spending the summers writing up reports and stuff for the company, and he'll also be hands on for us during planting and harvest."

"Isn't LexCorp running something similar?"

"Yeah, But LexCorp is more focused on sales and distribution—as in, setting themselves up to be the best and probably only option for Smallville farmers to sell to. Wayne Biotech is actually working to free the market a bit. More competition means better prices for both the farmers and the distributors."

"What do you mean?"

"It's basic economics, really. If I am the only weed dealer in the whole state, I can sell weed for however fucking much I want, because nobody else is competing with me. The opposite is true. If there are weed dealers everywhere but only two people in this place actually ever buy any, the dealers are constantly driving their prices down until it's not worth it to deal.

"Naturally, you don't grow weed here. But you do grow food that people consume. If all of you are trying to sell to the best or only option available, you're all like the weed dealers that get driven away because there's not a market where you can sell. It's bad business for everyone. So Wayne Biotech is going to try to open up the market and also develop technology and products that will help farmers increase their production without sacrificing their land or their quality."

"Sounds like that could be useful around here," Pete said thoughtfully. Then, with a smirk, he asks, "Why weed dealers?"

I have to laugh. "I didn't know how scandalous cocaine would be, but I figure drugs would be the thing that keep attention when I explain this to people."

"You're right. Although around here, weed is probably pretty scandalous too."

"Seriously? You guys have never smoked before?"

"No way." Pete shakes his head, and so does Clark.

"Drinking?"

Clark shakes his head no, but Pete says, "Beer sometimes."

"Wow," I say. Then I smirk. "Virgins?"

They both turn pink.

"Holy shit. Alright. Pete, you and I are on a mission right now. Clark wants this bitch named Lana to give him the time of day. We're going to get him laid. _This. Summer._ "

"That so? So you met Lana, huh?"

"She obviously knows Clark likes her, and she asked for my number right in front of him. Fucking rude bitch literally looked him over and then called _me_ 'hotness'. Who even says that? What do you see in that girl anyway?"

Clark's blush deepens. "She's pretty, and I know that she can be really nice and smart."

"I know what you see _on_ her, Clark. I have eyeballs in my head. She has assets, okay? But she's honestly going to fuck with you and hurt you. She can be nice and smart, but so can anyone else. That doesn't mean she _will_ be nice. Not to you."

Clark sighs, floating on his back again. "You guys suck at this motivation thing."

"But if you fuck her and forget her, you'll get it out of your system and it won't matter if she decides never to look at you again, because you won't be pining like a baby."

Clark is bright red. "I'm not going to—you—you're disgusting, Bruce."

"I'm just telling you, you need to play the game. That's all."

"I don't want to play Lana, I want to be her boyfriend."

"And you'd make a great one," Pete says kindly. "I just think you should consider other options. Chloe would totally date you."

"Yeah, but she's like my cousin or something. Isn't that weird? I mean, we've known each other since we were practically babies."

"She hates that you like Lana and she has been known to think about asking you to last year's spring fling and fall ball."

"She never asked me, though."

"Because she was waiting for Lana to shoot you down _again_ so that she could swoop in and save your pride."

I tilt my head. "See? Chloe's playing the game. And honestly, she's not bad. Pretty eyes, nice tits. She'll do nicely. You could get her if you wanted to. She feels friendzoned, and feeling friendzoned is a good indication that someone wants to be _out_ of the friendzone."

Clark's eyebrows pull together. "Why does this have to be so hard? You know what? Maybe you guys are right. Not because of whatever you just said, but because it shouldn't be this hard to get someone to want me for me. When that happens, it really shouldn't get to be this damn difficult."

"You're right about that too." An annoying part of my brain says _that could be me_ and I picture myself smothering it violently with a pillow until it's twitchy and dead.

"When it happens for me, it'll be just right."

I think about my first reactions to him, watching his face as it morphs back into serenity. I find myself looking over the lines of his face, the shape of his nose, the way his eyelashes lay when his eyes are closed. "You're right," I say, and the smothered part of my brain twitches back to life.

After that, I get to know Pete better. He isn't half as talented with music or words as Clark is, but he prefers science and math. They have in common their love of science fiction, but I realize as they bicker about space travel that Clark's love of it is for the fiction, coming from the endless possibilities of people, characters, and places that the universe could contain, and how it is to make up those characters. Pete's love of it is more of the science than the fiction. He says we'll never have effective space travel because physics is a thing, and that makes going faster than a certain speed fatal and catastrophic, much less going faster than the speed of light, which would be what was needed to travel and get anywhere in space before we are dead.

Clark is clearly put out by this and argues that if anything is possible in a story, then anything can be possible in life too. We might not see it in our lifetimes, but someone somewhere is going to figure out how to defeat the physics of it and we'll be able to have safe and timely space travel.

Pete says that the day they defeat physics, physics is going to defeat them back like the scorned woman it is. They splash at each other as they bicker.

I laugh, glancing at my watch, the background of a photo of my friends and I coming to life as I lift my arm. The display reads, _Friday, May 18_ _th_ _5:23 pm. 81 F._ "Alright, nerds. Your conversation is the most entertaining thing I've witnessed in a while, but Clark and I have to get back. It's almost five thirty, Clark."

"Oh—shoot! You're right, we should head back so we have time to wash up before dinner. Hey, say hi to your mom for me."

"Yeah, sure thing. Bye!" Pete calls after us as we move toward the bank and step back out into the opressive heat.

I bend down and towel myself off quickly, shoving my feet into my shoes. "He was nice."

"Yeah, he's great. We've been friends since like third grade. It's funny, with smallville being such a small town, we've all known each other basically since birth in one way or another, but some how the group of friends is still really small." He throws two towels on the seats of the car and then hops up into it. I think it's cute that the truck is tall enough that he has to climb in it, even though I do too.

He settles into the seat and we roar off, kicking up dust as we move along the dry dirt road toward the main road that will take us back home.

"Why did the girl Chloe tell you to watch out for Whit and Kenny?"

Clark sighs. "Oh. Uhm… the short answer is, they're jerks."

"What's the long answer?" I ask suspiciously. I don't like the idea of him getting bullied around by small town wannabes.

"They're going to be juniors this year, they're on the football team. You know. The cliche. They sort of treat everyone around them like trash, even their so-called friends. They don't… like me very much."

"What'd they do to you?"

"More cliches," Clark shrugs, but his shoulders stay tense. "Spread rumors, shove me around… mess with me in the locker room, steal my clothes, whip me with the towel. Honestly dumb little things, but added up they're kind of stressful."

"If I see them can I fuck them up?"

"No," Clark protests, wide-eyed. "What? Why?"

"What do you mean why? Why not?"

He huffs, agitated. "Because you can't just beat people up, they didn't do anything to you. Why would you want to do that anyway?!"

"Because I don't like them fucking with you, that's why," I snap.

"Yeah but…" His irritation saps out of him.

"But what? Nobody's ever been able to stand up to them before? Just because I'm a city boy doesn't mean I haven't learned how to fight."

Giving up, he says, "Can you at least wait until they try to start one?"

"Maybe," I say nonchalantly. We park in front of the garage and Clark sits thoughfully.

"Thank you," he says after a long time.

"No need," I say.


	5. 1-5

The second I choose my seat at the dinner table, across from Clark's mom and next to Clark's dad, I know I'm in deep shit.

It's obvious that he works hard, and works with his hands. He's a whole head and probably a half taller than both Clark and I. I'm five feet, ten inches tall, which puts Clark at a nice five-seven or five-eight or so. You know, Freshman height. Clark's dad on the other hand? Oh God, he has to be some six feet, six or seven inches tall! He's huge, and he's musclebound in places I didn't even know there were places. He wears flannels and overalls and work boots, all of it grimy and worked in, but still somehow cool and neat looking. His hands are somehow clean but dirty, I notice as he washes them, but they still come out with a strange ash color on them, tan from a lifetime of working in sun and dirt.

 _Those are worker's hands._ He shakes my hand with a bright smile that matches his son's, but where Clark's eyes are always guileless blue, his are shrewd, sharp gray. I hold his gaze as confidently as I can, and he nods, quietly sitting down in his seat. He's graceful for someone so tall and lumbering. My father isn't quite his height, but he would dwarf Thomas Wayne like the Sun versus Mercury. My father keeps his hair dyed and gelled in a clean style, always eating literally every meal in a tailored suit like the pretentious bastard he is. Mr. Kent, though, eats his meal calmly in his work-worn clothing, his hair salt-and-pepper and windblown, his whole demeanor so totally casual and warm that I can't stop watching him.

I only sit after he and Mrs. Kent are seated.

Mrs. Kent reaches out for her husband's plate, neatly puts piles of food on it, and then turns to her son and does the same. Finally, she takes my plate and fills it, and then she fills her own. Clark dives into a description of the day, his eyes bright and his hands flying everywhere between bites of vegetables and freshly cooked rice. He glosses over talking to Lana, and both Kents glance at each other, knowing looks gleaming in their eyes. They don't say anything at all, which I find suspicious.

When Mr. Kent asks, "and how did you find the town and the swimming hole, Bruce?" I don't know what to say.

"It was all great," I end up saying, and as I do I believe it. Clark's brilliant smile is what ended up winning me over, and I've spent the rest of the day more happy with his company than I ever have with anyone's company in my life. "Clark is a fantastic tour guide. The swimming hole is a lot of fun. I'm happy there's a place like that around here. Clark is right at home in the water, and I had a good time with him."

Mrs. Kent smiles at him, patting his cheek as it turns red. "He's always so keen on making new friends. I'm glad y'all hit it off so well."

Mr. Kent says nothing, but glances between Clark and me more than once. He chews and swallows, and then he pats Mrs. Kent's cheek, his thumb lovingly tracing her cheekbone as she leans into his palm. "Thank you, dear," he says kindly, and Clark and I immediately straighten and follow suit.

"Yeah, this is as good as Alfred's food," I say, nodding.

Mrs. Kent laughs.

Clark just goes next to his mother and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm glad y'all enjoy it," she answers, wrapping an arm around her son.

I look down, not hungry anymore. I have to force myself to swallow, and then shove another forkful of rice into my mouth. I want to be alone more than anything right now. I take a hasty drink of lemonade to wash down the food in my mouth, which suddenly has the taste and consistency of wet newspaper.

Clark isn't oblivious. He turns to his mom and says, "We'll excuse ourselves now. I'm sure Bruce is tired, and I want to finish 'The Martian Chronicles' tonight. So far it's very thoughtful and intriguing. It's also kind of frustrating, I mean—" he cuts of, flushing. "Anyway. I should make sure Bruce has everything he needs before he goes to bed."

Mrs. Kent nods and says, "Clear your plates, please," to which Clark nods immediately and smiles.

"Thanks mom," he says, leaning over to kiss her hair as he goes.

Mr. Kent asks him to do several things before he goes upstairs, and then he says, "Bruce, why don't you come with me?"

I take my plate to the sink and follow him into… the garage? I hesitate. "Is this… okay?"

Mr. Kent nods, smiling. "Of course. Please, come in. Help me move these." He gestures to the work table in the middle of the room, where there are several woodworking pieces neatly lined up. They look like chair legs? Or maybe the beginnings of an elaborate wood table.

We carefully move them from the table onto the floor, and I admire the smooth wood and precise designs, obviously hand carved into the wood. It's a geometric carving right along the bottom that oddly resembles palm trees, and a row of alternating triangles resemble rays of sun. "This looks amazing," I say. "What is it going to be?"

"A coffee table," he answers. "It's a concept that Clark brought up to me a while ago, something he saw on the YouTube. He showed it to me, and I figured that I would try my hand at projects like it until I became good enough to make him one. It will go in the upstairs foyer in front of the television." He smiles at me and becons me to the computer he has on a desk next to a workbench that is against the wall. "Want to see the final concept?"

I nod, and he pulls up his sketched plans on the screen. The table is… "it's glass? Oh, it's an infinity mirror table!"

Mr. Kent nods. "I saw a man make a side table like it once. With time and practice I've been able to get some good ones done. I'm going to make an infinity mirror and frame it in the decorative wood which I'll design to go with the legs," he says, nodding at the leg in my hand.

I trace it again with my fingers, nodding. "I'm sure he'll love it," I tell him quietly. Mr. Kent studies me, and I turn so that he can't see my face. I put the leg down next to the others.

"Not to pry, but you seemed… uncomfortable today during supper. Is something the matter?"

I don't answer, not happy at all. But then again, if Clark noticed, I should have known that his father would too. Of course Clark would learn how to observe people from his dad. If I were to learn something from mine, what would that be?

My shoulders sag. I honestly don't know.

"C'mere," Mr. Kent says, and I obey automatically. When I'm close to him, he wraps me in a hug, catching me completely by surprise. "I know being away from home is difficult, and it can be lonely. If you ever want to get something off your chest, feel free to join me in here. I can always use an extra hand on some of these projects."

He smells like farm, but also like sawdust and bodywash. He smells like dads should smell. My throat burns as I return the embrace. "Thank you," I whisper.

* * *

At night, I feel weird. I sort of want to be left alone, but at the same time, I don't want to be by myself. Feeling exposed after literally all the Kents figured out my emotional state in one glance, I take my time in the shower, hiding from them a bit.

How did they see through me so easily? Well, at least they didn't fully guess that most of the time I think of the family butler as more of a father than my own, that he is the one that attends my lacrosse and jujitsu tournaments, that he makes time for me when I want to talk when my father won't even let me into his study to say good night.

They'll figure it out eventually though. Unlike my own parents, they pay attention.

When I'm done showering, I listen for anyone outside the room. Finding it empty, I crack the door. The house is dark except for lights along the stairs, seeming to emanate from the wall. One tiny blob of soft, dim light iluminates the steps, effectively destroying the need for turning on lights in the middle of the night while still guarding against falling hazards. The steps that go upstairs have those little lights too, but everything else is dark except under Clark's door.

I swallow. Should I knock? I decide to knock. I raise my hand, and then stop. This is probably a terrible idea. Then I sigh, laughing at myself. When the hell have the words 'bad idea' ever stopped me? I rap on the door quickly.

"Come in," he calls. He's at his desk typing.

I stand inside the door awkwardly. "You don't… mind if I finish that book I was reading?"

He smiles his ultra-mega-watt smile. "Not at all! Here, I bookmarked it for you." He goes to his enormous bookcase and retrieves the book, leafing through it quickly. "There, I was afraid the bookmark had fallen out."

"Thanks."

"Do you want to sit in the chair again? I can drag in a beanbag if you want. Sometimes after a long day, the beanbags are sort of cozy. Hey, by the way, is your room comfortable in temperature? I have a fan you can borrow—the hvac system has to be replaced this summer, it's tripping dad out."

"No, I'm okay."

Clark nods, rubbing his right tricep with his left arm.

"You're a leftie," I observe.

"Yeah," he says with a shy grin. "Everyone on my mom's side of the family is. It's kind of crazy, huh? My dad is also left handed, though. I had no escape," he jokes.

"Wow, guess not," I say. I decide to let him talk. I know he feels awkward because I do, and suddenly, listening to his voice is making me feel a bit lulled, peaceful like I did earlier in the water.

"How do you like the book so far? You're almost over the hump, it looks like, from there things will start to get pretty intense. What do you think of Sydney so far?"

"I don't fucking like him," I say. "He's a pessimistic prick. Who has time for someone like that?"

Clark laughs. "Yeah, he definitely has a crappy view of the world."

"You know, people with that shit a worldview off themselves often."

Clark shrugs. "Maybe… maybe he just needs a good enough reason." He sits down at his desk, but he doesn't start at his computer again. Instead, he turns in his chair. "Are you sure you're okay? You were really quiet at dinner, and you seemed sort of sad. Do you miss home? I've never been away from here more than a weekend before, so I understand if you're kind of homesick. Wow, being away for a whole summer? That must feel insane. If you ever wanna talk or read, or whatever, my door's always open, okay? Or, if you wanna get out of here, there's a movie theater the next town over that we all go to sometimes, or—"

I close my eyes and sink further into the comfy chair. "Thanks, Clark," I whisper. To be honest, I might not have processed everything he said, but I get the gist of it: _I know you're in a fucked up place, but I'm here when you need me._ Reading between the lines of all of that rambling, there's a delicious _I'm your friend no matter what_ that makes my heart squeeze. "Thank you," I whisper again.

He stands up and pats my shoulder before going into the bathroom.

I pick up my book again. Sydney is an asshole as usual, and Lucie is pretty—gorgeous, really— and smart, and everything he isn't, and he knows he can never have or deserve her. Somehow, he's okay with being her awkward, grumpy best friend, though—as much as is proper, anyway. I decide that he isn't so shitty after all.

I refuse to let my brain think something so cheesy and stupid as 'Clark could be my Lucie' because I don't even like him that way. But still, being his friend that is a generally shitty person seems like it would work. It does in the book, anyway. I've only known him for a few hours, and I know that I'd do anything for him. Part of that makes me angry, to be honest. Nobody should be allowed to be that fucking sweet. He's giving me a goddamn stomach ache. Still, being his friend, being his _best_ friend—while I'm still here—it would be so easy.

I add Clark to The Trashcan.

* * *

The second I open my phone to the group chat, I am living in regret.

 **OQ:** you owe me a stack, brother.

 **Me:** whatever

 **OQ:** Did he, or did he not say?

 **BG:** He did. He recorded it for posterity, should I repost it?

 **Me:** No.

 **CK:** Hey, everyone

 **RD:** *squealing*

 **RD:** ASJDUHADFKJNGHE'S SO CUTE CAN WE KEEP HIM?!

 **Me:** Keep your claws away Rach

 **RD:** I would never use claws on someone so adorable.

 **CK:** Thanks?

 **CK:** I'm…

 **CK:** why does Bruce owe you money?

 **Me:** I made a dumb bet. Ignore them.

 **OQ:** He said he'd probably never make friends, and I told him he'd add someone in here within a couple days. He didn't believe me, so we made a bet.

 **CK:** You bet about me? I'm flattered

 **CK:** I think.

 **Me:** You guys are scaring him.

 **BG:** I haven't even said anything yet.

 **CK:** That's probably what's scaring him.

I burst out laughing.

 **RD:** Get rekt

 **OQ:** He's gonna fit right in.

 **BG:** Fuck you all

 **CK:** How rude.

 **Me:** Yeah, Barbie. Fucking rude.

 **BG:** Especially fuck you, Brucie.

 **Me:** STOP. CALLING ME THAT.

 **CK:** Brucie?

 **Me:** …

 **CK:** what's wrong with Brucie? I think it's cute.

 **OQ** : Lmao

 **RD** : Isn't it?

 **Me** : It's not fucking cute. I'm regretting this already

 **CK:** It was just a question O:-)

 **Me:** Put that halo away.

 **BG:** Yeah, it's blinding OQ from staring at RD's tits.

 **OQ:** Honestly, fuck you all.

 **BG:** If you'd just get together, we'd save you the embarrassment.

 **CK:** *puts the halo away*

 **CK:** sorry. Didn't mean to be a blocker.

 **OQ:** Fuck you all. [Middle finger]

 **Me:** I'd respect you more if you said the whole word, CK.

 **CK:** I'm emotionally unavailable, OQ, but very flattered by your offer.

 **CK:** I think Rachel is more your speed, anyway.

 **BG:** lmfao who's getting rekt now?

 **Me:** how are you not like this in real life? This is hilarious.

 **CK:** I guess I've always been better at writing.

 **Me:** interesting.

 **CK:** guys, what do I not know about Bruce yet?

 **OQ:** he's a dick

 **BG:** he's kind of an asshole

 **RD:** he's fucking sexist.

 **CK:** …wow.

 **Me:** I'm not sexist.

 **CK:** …

 **CK:** but he didn't deny the rest.

 **OQ:** lmao nope he wouldn't even bother

 **CK:** He's been nothing but kind and friendly here.

 **CK:** I think maybe it's the company he keeps.

 **OQ:** Low blow, CK.

 **BG:** Ouch. But he's not wrong, though.

 **CK:** You're all rubbing off on him too much

 **CK:** don't worry, I'm here to help.

 **Me:** I love this.

 **CK:** Okay what else?

 **RD:** Bruce is a fucking nerd, did you know that?

 **CK:** what makes you say?

 **RD:** He spends all his free time hating class, and school, and people in class or school.

 **OQ:** He just hates people tbh

 **RD:** But he's the current valedictorian

 **Me:** It's not hard to shine against the dark clouds of FUCKING MORONS that hover over that place.

 **Me:** teachers included

 **CK:** you have a dark view of the world, Bruce.

 **OQ:** in his defense, most of the teachers really are morons

 **RD:** or pushovers. When you teach kids whose daddies make more money in ten minutes than they've made in five years, it's easy to just… give up on your own intelligence and theirs.

 **CK:** that's unfortunate.

 **Me:** the world is an unfortunate place, CK.

 **CK:** What's your favorite suject, Brucie?

 **Me:** I don't know. Probably any of my science subjects.

 **RD:** what's yours?

 **CK:** Definitely literature.

 **BG:** … No? Nobody? Nobody caught that?

 **OQ:** Do you write?

 **CK:** sometimes

 **CK:** wanna get into the school paper next year. It would be cool to write stories about the stuff going on in town.

 **OQ:** Cool.

 **AP:** You should know, Master Clark, that his use of foul language is utterly horrific.

 **OQ:** Alfred! WTF BW how did you put CK in this group and not our group?!

 **CK:** I gathered, Mr. Pennyworth. How are you doing?

 **Me:** Sorry! Sorry, Alfred.

 **AP:** you all keep apologizing, but you never change.

 **AP:** You should also know, Master Clark, that his vulgarity extends far outside his common language

 **Me:** I'm loving the 5 star reviews, everyone. Keep em coming

 **AP:** But his friendship and loyalty are unparalleled. I am glad you're all getting along so well.

 **RD:** aww

 **OQ:** how sweet.

 **OQ:** it's true.

 **AP:** Master Bruce does not care for injustice or anything he perceives to be illogical or unfair. In fact, he can be quite willful and plainspoken about it.

 **BG:** also true.

 **Me:** thanks, Alfred

 **AP:** tell us more about yourself as well, Master Clark

As Clark chats with everyone, I eventually just watch the little boxes scroll, deep in thought. Barbara, Clark and I got into a heated debate about the criminal justice system at some point. Ollie talks to him about books and sci-fi, his inner nerd coming out as they discuss quantom physics in literature and how scientifically possible certain things could be. The conversation is reminiscent of the debate he had with Peter earlier. Ollie recommends some books on physics and chemistry for Clark to read, and I put them in my Amazon cart and buy them immediately, having them sent here within two days. Rachel asks him invasive questions which he dodges as best he can until I come in with an occasional 'Stop embarrassing him, RD' or a couple of 'fuck offs' which make everyone apologize to Alfred again.

Clark is almost like the missing piece in the trashcan puzzle. Rach has someone to trade insults with, Ollie can express his inner geek, and Barbara can talk criminal justice, politics, and other governmental and social issues with him. It's funny to watch them shut down each other's arguments. In the end, I think Clark came out of that one the victor, but knowing Barbara, she's going to do a bunch of research and come at him again later on. Hell, I even learned some things watching them chat. The best part is, they were just matching wits. It never got heated. Clark stayed friendly and respectful, and as a result I think he gained a lot of Barbara's respect as well.

Honestly, I'm just happy that he's as smart as they are. Deep down, nobody likes stupid people. He keeps up with all their favorite things easily. It makes me happy that they get along so well. He connected to each of them in their own way fitting right in like he was made to be there. I just wonder… what his connection will be to me.

 **AP:** Master Clark seems wonderful. You're enjoying his company?

The private message makes me smile. The subtext of that question is one of protectiveness, just making sure things are actually fine between us. God knows what would actually happen if they weren't.

 **Me:** He's as nice and friendly as he's been in the group chat. He's practically as cute and innocent as a puppy.

 **AP:** I'm glad you've made a new friend, Master Bruce. Cherish him like you do the others.

 **Me:** I'm gonna do my best, Alfred.

 **AP:** …

 **Me:** what?

 **AP:** He's quite the looker, as well, based on the short moment I had to observe

 **Me:** Nope. I'm not going there with you. I'm straight anyway.

 **AP:** Right. Of course.

 **Me:** I'm not giving in.

 **AP:** Whatever you say, Sir. I ought to go to bed now. I have many things to do in the morning.

 **Me:** Have a good night, Alfred.

 **AP:** You enjoy your evening as well, Master Bruce.

 **Me:** Alfred?

 **AP:** Sir

 **Me:** would it really be okay if… I don't know. If I thought he had really nice eyes, or something

 **Me:** I don't. I'm… like I said, I don't. But if I did?

 **AP:** Remember that I want to see you soar, Master Bruce. Whatever that means, however it happens. I could never disapprove of your happiness.

 **Me:** I… thank you.

 **AP:** How nice are they, if I may?

 **Me:** better than any I've ever seen.

 **Me:** I never said that.

 **AP:** Very well, then. Good night, Master Bruce

 **Me:** Good night, Alfred.

* * *

 **A/N: this story is also being posted on AO3! check me out over there for more SuperBat content. Also, I'm gonna write a trollhunters oneshot sometime soon, so keep an eye out for that!**

 **Love Daisy**


	6. 1-6

"Hey, wake up." There's an insistent whisper sneaking into my dream, turning it from pleasant to irritant. "Bruce. Wake up, it's time to get up."

I pull myself up into consciousness, and let me just say, that is an extremely difficult feat at—I roll over to glare at the alarm—"four-thirty? Honestly, fuck you, Clark. Go away."

He only laughs. "I promise you coffee."

"That's not a promise, that's the only reason you're not missing a body part right now."

"Jeez. Not a morning person?" he asks, his voice irritatingly pleasant.

 _"_ _It's not motherfucking morning."_

"It's still time to get up. Come on. If it's not a promise, then it's a bribe. The sooner we finish all of these things the sooner we can have coffee. And breakfast. _And coffee._ "

The way I look at him is openly hostile, but he's just smiling pleasantly. I realize that he's already dressed: a gray v-neck, jeans, and work boots. "How the fuck—how long have you been awake?"

"A while. I figured I'd let you sleep more."

"You're— _this_ was letting me sleep more?"

"We have stuff to do before breakfast. And it has to be before since—well, since I have to drop you off at the office after breakfast."

I groan. "Alright, I'm up."

At least this time, his answering smile manages to make me less grumpy instead of more irritated. "Okay," he says brightly.

"Do you always get up this early?"

"Every day," he says, heading toward the door. "And we're going easy on you this week," he adds with a wink. I flip him off as he ducks out the door, his laughter chasing him into the hall.

I bought new workboots for this, because I had a feeling that I'd end up getting dirty. I spent three days breaking them in, too, but I don't think that will matter once I get into the chores here.

I pull on a beater and stuff my legs into the first pair of jeans my hands find in the closet. Then I go downstairs, still stumbling and probably half asleep. It is completely dark outside.

"Are you kidding me?" I grumble.

"You'll get used to it," Clark says softly. He's standing by the kitchen door, which leads to the back part of the porch. To one side, there's the pool, and to the other side, there are steps that lead into a huge yard. We take the steps.

"So, giving you a tour of the farm is practically useless at this time of day," he says, laughing at the scowl on my face, "but I can give you the reader's digest version for now, so you have an idea of what we do here. So this whole property is about 900 hundred acres. Two hundred fifty are private—our personal area and the area we keep for our animals, which you'll meet in a second. And the rest is for business."

"Wow," I say, my eyes wide. The manor's grounds are roughly 800.

"Compared to the sizes of most of the major farming in the US it's kind of small, but most of us in this area farm locally, and so we all average about four to five hundred acres. To compare, the farms that are major farms—like the ones that sell McDonalds their fries, or something, those are two or three thousand acres, sometimes more."

"That's insanely huge," I say.

"Yeah. Hey, we get by. We normally hire people to help with the farm. You'll get to meet some of the people that work here and the things that they do. Also, in the office, you'll meet Dad's accountant and the people that are in charge of ordering the supplies and stuff—they're basically like a firm, since a lot of people also hire them to order their supplies."

"What kind of supplies?"

"Seeds, major equipment, that kind of thing."

"How many of you guys does it take to seed or harvest the whole thing?"

"It'll take Dad, Me, and three guys three to four days to get the whole field planted. Mom's schedule is different because she grows different things in her greenhouse."

"Same for the harvesting part? What kinds of things does she grow?"

"Yeah, about the same. Mom grows mostly herbs for sale, and she deals alot in essential oils and the like. She has a greenhouse and she has the processor where she packages and ships all the stuff. She has people working year round, but Dad normally only hires for planting and harvest."

"So what's the rest of the area?"

"Our barn, which we have to deal with now, and mom's vegetable garden, and the pasture for the horses."

"You have horses?"

"Sure. We wouldn't be cliche farmers if we didn't," he says cheekily.

I laugh. The barn is huge, and the door creaks as we push it aside. Clark shows me the upstairs, which I guess was used back in the day as a place for threshing, but now they just use it as an extra room, which Clark admits that he stays in often, since the windows have a direct view to the whole farm.

Downstairs, there is a caged off area that I find out is a chicken coup and there are ten large stalls. He shows me how to clean up each of them, and I'm mostly grossed out. He doesn't seemd to mind it, though.

By the time we make it to the last three stalls, which are horse stalls, it's past five thirty and the sky is starting to lighten up.

"Have you been around horses before?"

"No."

"Okay, well I'll introduce you. You're not scared of them, are you?"

"Not really."

"Good. Being calm is what usually makes them calm too. They're particularly good at sensing anxious or angry moods." He opens the first stall. "This is Night Fury. She's a rescue."

"A rescue… _horse?!_ How?"

"Well, lots of times people buy horses, but can't afford to care for them properly, or they don't know how to care for them properly. That's the biggest issue, really, and as a result they tend to get sick very quickly. When they found her, she was really malnourished. Her hooves were so painful she didn't even want to stand. They took several months to try to rehabilitate her, but she was temperamental and defensive, and it was taking too long. They were going to put her down when my dad bought her."

"That's really sad."

"She's mine now, mostly because I was the first person she responded to. I'm still her favorite," he says proudly, stepping into her stall. She's black as night, and huge. Clark's demeanor with her is absolutely fascinating. There's the kind of love that someone has for a pet, but magnified a million times over. There's a communication, the kind where he, expressive as he is, tells the horse with his whole body that he is respectful of her and cares deeply for her. She responds by shoving her nose into his palm. He reaches into his pocket and holds his hand out, a shiny red apple in his palm. He's laughing when she takes it with a snort. He pats her neck, rubbing it gently, and he talks to her in low tones. "…And this is my new friend, Bruce," he says. "He is going to help out around here for a while. You be good to him, you hear? No funny business, I know you."

Night Fury actually snorts.

He gives her a look. "I mean it, Nighty."

A huff.

"Now, let Bruce say hello." He motions me over, and I step into the stall carefully. "Don't be nervous. It's okay. Come over. You can pat her head or her neck like this." He demonstrates, and I follow his lead, smiling. "She's… soft." Her mane is silky soft too, and pitch black like the rest of her.

"She's finally getting there," he says softly. "It was a long road."

"She's beautiful."

"They all are." He keeps a hand on Night Fury as he moves around, first checking her water and food. He doesn't move to change them, though. "So, it's usually easier to just put them out and let them graze while we clean their stalls, and then later on I bring them back one at a time to groom them."

"Every day?"

"Yeah. For them, brushing them is like… I don't know. Like giving them a massage. Kinda like when someone plays with your hair and it makes you sleepy."

For some reason, that last statement makes me irrationally jealous. "Who put you to sleep like that, huh?" I tease. I'm not sure I kept the hard edge out of my tone.

"My mom," he says, turning pink. "I… we watch movies alot, the three of us. Old black and whites. My mom always lets me fall asleep against her."

My eyes burn and I look down. "That's nice," I say.

Over the next fifteen minutes, I meet Jasmine, a horse that's light tan (Clark says that's called dun color) with a white-blonde mane, and River, the chestnut brown colored horse. Clark explains that with private barns like this, where there are only a couple horses, it's easy to let them into the pasture together regardless of sex, but in most places where they board horses, they keep the males and females separate, and that the breeding males are kept away from the neutered ones.

"They neuter horses too?"

"Sure. Like River here. He's what's called a gelding. He was neutered by whoever owned him as a colt, I guess… before we got him. He is also a rescue, and so is Amber."

"And it's your job to groom all of them?"

"And some light training. I mean, I'm not a horse trainer, but keeping them up on training makes riding easier. Summers I spend almost every morning with them, and dad takes them out in the afternoons. During the school year, my dad keeps up with it in the morning, and I spend the afternoons with them."

"But Um, Night Fury is your favorite?"

"More like I'm her person. She gets temperamental with my dad sometimes, and we've never even tried to let Mom near her. Don't want her to get hurt, you know? But rescuing her was a good decision, and she's a good horse."

I grin, "She _is_ your favorite. Everyone that says they don't have a favorite is lying."

He laughs. "She might be my favorite," he admits. The way he smiles at her as he leads her outside makes me think that she's my favorite, too.

* * *

"Good morning Bruce," Mrs. Kent says cheerfully as I walk in the door. "Why don'tcha wash up for breakfast, honey?"

"Is there coffee?" I grump. "Clark promised me coffee."

Clark laughs. "Yes, but let's wash up." He has to practically drag me up the steps. "Wow, did you get any sleep?"

"No, no thanks to you."

"Well you'd better go to bed early today. Tomorrow we'll be up at the same time."

"I don't think I can do this."

"You'll get used to it, I promise. Mom will always have coffee for you, too."

"Is it as good as Alfred's?"

"I've never had Alfred's coffee, so I wouldn't know."

"Hmph." I shut the door in Clark's face and move into the bathroom, hoping the shower will wake me up.

Once I'm showered, shaved, and dressed, I walk downstairs to find everyone getting ready to sit down. Once again, Mr. Kent is dressed in outdoorsy farmer wear. It doesn't look cliche on him, though. He looks like he was born to wear his sleeves pushed up to reveal ultra tan forearms, jeans that are worn but fit just so, and workboots neatly tied and scuffed with years of dirt almost artfully.

Clark is dressed similarly, but he's not wearing a flannel, just a gray tee shirt. He immediately motions me next to him at the counter, where he pours a huge mug of fresh coffee, the scent that pulled me in here to begin with. I inhale it deeply, not caring that I probably look maniacal.

Clark's smiling, but he's not amused or somehow laughing at me. Actually, the way his eyes light up in the morning light of the window seems almost affectionate. He nudges the cream and sugar towards me, patting my shoulder. I take the sugar, but not the cream.

"Oh. My God. No. Wait. Not God. Mrs. Kent. Oh my Mrs. Kent. Where did you get this coffee and how do I get some?" I stare at the -goddess with awe and reverence.

"You have some," Clark says. Now he's laughing at me.

"This is—this is better than when Alfred uses the French press. Don't. Tell him I said that. Actually tell, him so he can demand to know what dark magic you're using."

It's Mr. Kent that bursts into laughter. "Glad you like it, son," he chortles.

Clark is chuckling too. "I told you it would be worth it."

"You were right," I admit happily, taking another sip. "Feel free to _open_ with the amazing coffee part next time."

"I'll get right on it," he laughs.

Breakfast is a continuation of laughter and jokes, mostly at my expense, but sometimes at Mr. Kent's expense too. He honest to God reminds me of the jolly green giant, or something. Noting that out loud brings another round of jokes.

The food is spectacular, and I take a picture of my plate and post it to the chat with Alfred. They're a couple hours ahead of us here, so most of them answer right away, including Alfred who instantly starts to grill me about ingredients and fair trade and organic certifications. I tell him there's nothing more organic and natrual than eggs we literally brought in from outside _this morning._

 **AP:** do they mill their own flour as well?  
 **CK:** I had to do that part on my own because Bruce wouldn't wake up. Mom also needed his help with milking the cow…  
 **AP:** …  
 **AP:** are you quite serious?  
 **CK:** quite.  
 **Me:** lmfao he's kidding. Wait…  
 **Me** : You're kidding, right?  
 **CK:** We'd better go, you'll be late. Have a wonderful day, Alfred.  
 **AP:** You as well, Master Clark.

In the car, Clark says, "you seem better today than yesterday."

I smile. "I am, I think. I'll adjust, you know? Big change, is all. Never been on my own like this before." That's the truth, although leaving out the part where I'm usually on my own even at home feels a lot like lying. My smile goes away.

Clark glances over at me. "You're not here alone," he says quietly, then he turns up the music, singing along to a cover of 'House of the Rising Sun' at the top of his lungs.

* * *

The office is located in a tiny "professional park" that consists of two three story buildings, a parking lot, and a tiny court yard with trees and benches, called "Hayes Professional". I'm supposed to be in the one on the left, _3402 Hayes Park Drive_ which is right off Main Street and near the high school. It already looks like boring hell.

Clark parks in front of the building and smiles at me. "Want me to walk you up?"

"That's not necessary but… you know. Thanks."

"OKay. I have something for you." Clark reaches into the back seat and retrieves a silver thermos. "I always hear stories about how bad office coffee is. Ma and I both agreed that you shouldn't have your first day on internship start with swill."

"Oh God… thank you. Tell her thank you."

He flushes pink. "Aww shucks—it's no big deal. She's just happy you're a fan. Hey—good luck, okay?"

I take the thermos and my bag, offing Clark a fist bump before I hop out. He smiles brightly at me, and I avert my eyes before I do something that can be misconstrued. He waves as he backs out of the parking spot, and then he takes off. I can hear the base of "I get around" by the Beach Boys and the high pitch of the tenor as he takes off.

It's only seven thirty in the morning, and it is already too hot for this shit. My office is on the third floor, according to the directory. It's called "Burns Accounting and Assoc." and it's in suite 319. Thankfully, that suite is right near the steps _and_ the elevator. Once I'm inside, the lady at the desk tells me that Mr. Burns is expecting me already.

Mr. Burns shows me my desk and what my tasks for each week are. I have to receive all the incoming weekly files from the clients that own farms and then compile them into two reports: one for Wayne BioTech, and one for the accounting firm. I also have to help him process all the major orders for his farming clients, reporting what the most common orders and replacements are back to Wayne BioTech.

All of this sounds easy and rathar banal, if you ask me. But I get settled in my desk quickly, noting that there are two other people with the same kind of job that I have. Mr. Burns says that they can help me with any questions I have about their system.

It takes me the better part of the day to deal with learning all of their bullshit systems. By the end, Mr. Burns has a list on his desk of all the ways we can streamline this process to cut costs to him and to his clients, thus making this less ridiculous for everyone involved.

He laughs at my fed-up attitude, but I can tell he's decided to impliment at least the suggestions that will cut costs.

At lunch, I find that besides a thermos full of coffee, Clark and mr.s Kent took their time putting together a decent meal for me. I have two sandwiches, a salad, home-made cookies, and a container full of fresh lemonade. Everything except the cookies is packed into a bag with an ice pack, keeping the lemonade and salad fresh and crisp. I am pretty sure I moan while I'm eating it like a porn star. I choose to eat out by the benches, the tress providing shade I am eternally grateful or.

Smallville isn't like anywhere I've been. The air is clean here, and it smells like all the grains and flowers that they grow in this area. It makes me miss the briny scent of the ocean and pollution a little bit less.

Still, I get my phone out and message the Trash Can.

 **Me:** I'm bored of this already and I kinda miss home tbh  
 **CK:** I'm sorry.  
 **BG:** You'll be fine  
 **OQ:** jeez I just landed and you're already bored?  
 **Me:** Glad you made it, OQ.  
 **RD:** I miss you guys already  
 **CK:** I'm sure Ollie misses you too.  
 **Me:** that's who she was really talking to tbh  
 **OQ:** (middle finger emoji)  
 **RD:** fuck you both  
 **CK:** you're very sweet, Rach. I'd consider it but I don't want problems with OQ.  
 **BG:** lmao I love that Clark hopped right into shipping you two  
 **CK:** I do, truly.  
 **Me** : you were right, OQ, he is fitting right in  
 **OQ:** fuck you, Brucie  
 **Me:** no thanks, bro and don't call me that  
 **Me:** goddammit  
 **RD:** I was honestly just trying to be nice and you both had to ruin it.  
 **CK:** we all know you guys should just leave the nice bit to me.  
 **Me:** lmfao he's right.  
 **CK:** kinda like how Alfred told my mom that you love chocolate chunk cookies and sent her a recipe, and I suggested that she make you a batch as a welcome gift.  
 **Me:** …  
 **Me:** these are OG's cookies?  
 **CK:** you're welcome.

I close the chat, ignoring them all as I chomp into one without ceremony, moaning as it melts in my mouth.

Clark calls me, still giggling at whatever is going on in the chat. "The girls are upset that he hasn't made any for them yet."

"It's only been two days," I mumble around a mouth full.

Clark laughs outright. "I'm glad you like them. There'll be a plate for us when we get home. We can take them back out to the Watering Hole, or we can eat them at home. Up to you."

"Let's go swimming," I say immediately.

"Can't wait," Clark answers. He hangs up, and I grin like an idiot. The rest of my day is a lot lighter after that.

* * *

 **A/N: Alfred already adores Clark on the low, can you tell?**

 **thanks for reading. let me know what you think and if there are any errors/questions. you guys are awesome :)**

 **Love, Daisy**


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